


Subterfuge

by The_Bentley



Series: Transformations 'Verse [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1930s, 1940s, Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Aziraphale Has PTSD (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Mess (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Blood, Brief Moment of Aziraphale's True Form (Good Omens), Car Accidents, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Comfort, Comforting Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Friendship, Historical, Holocaust, Hurt, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Nazi Germany, Panic Attacks, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Prison, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Psychological Trauma, Serious Injuries, Torture, Violence, Whump, World War II, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-01-31 14:10:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21447484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Bentley/pseuds/The_Bentley
Summary: War has come to Europe and many are suffering under the Nazi Regime of Germany.  Aziraphale, unable to sit by and watch this happen, has plans to save as many as he can but he needs help.  Crowley, miserable in his new mission which has him infiltrating the Nazi government to further Hell's causes, just might be the partner he requires to implement his plans.  But when Aziraphale ends up imprisoned for his actions, Crowley's rage will have him raining Hell down on those who hold his angel captive.  Both will also have to learn to deal with the trauma that comes with being embedded behind enemy lines as the toll the war takes on them has Crowley and Aziraphale depending on each other for support.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Transformations 'Verse [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1354897
Comments: 133
Kudos: 205
Collections: Hurt Aziraphale, My faves - Good Omens Whump





	1. The Plan

**Author's Note:**

> First, the story deals with some heavy history and gets into some not-so-subtle details about the Holocaust. There's too much going for me to put content warnings every chapter. Unpleasant things happen and they're important to the story. If graphic violence is going to bother you, please, skip this fic! It's an expansion of Chapter 4 of [Falling with Grace](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18638605/chapters/44199373).
> 
> Second, I will not tolerate any Holocaust denier bullshit in the comments. Any such opinions made will be deleted the moment I notice them and I'll moderate comments if I have to, even though I hate doing that. I’m not anticipating a problem because AO3 is full of awesome people, but I thought I’d say something just in case. 
> 
> Finally, because in this particular ‘verse of mine, Crowley and Aziraphale don’t get together until after the Apocalypse That Wasn’t, this focuses on their friendship and the bond they have formed so far. But since it is slow burn there are some little precursors to what’s to eventually come. Besides, sex scenes in the middle of Nazi Germany with all its horrors would just seem rather inappropriate

_England, late 1930s_

War had come to Europe and it wasn’t long before Aziraphale received word he was to report to Germany to do what good deeds he could to further Heaven’s agenda in a country that had almost literally become Hell on Earth. In preparation he had packed up his entire bookshop, rented an old farmhouse up north somewhere and transported, with Crowley’s help, load of boxes after load of boxes to the house to wait out the war. He knew Great Britain would soon be drawn into this conflict one way or another. London would be a prime target for Germany’s war machine; best to get his rare finds and beloved first editions out of harm’s way as much as possible. Using miracles to keep the bookshop in one piece would most definitely look suspicious if every other building on the street was obliterated by bombs. He even went as far as to hire an older gentleman to keep an eye on the place so that the climate in the building stayed at the correct level for his collection.

Currently, the old car he had magically driven up here was sitting out in the front of the property while he stood in the old barn, which was still in good shape, if a little bit drafty, with the demon. They having an argument about a certain Bentley said demon also wanted out of the line of fire they both saw coming. 

“You cannot park it in the middle of the kitchen, my dear,” he said a bit testily. “It’ll be just fine here in the barn. You can put whatever spells on it you need to keep the weather and pests from harming it. It’s a car for goodness sake. I just don’t understand your love affair with it. It’s not like it can love you back.”

Crowley snorted as he pulled one last tarp up over the Bentley’s roof and waved a hand to fasten it securely. “You’re one to talk with all those books I broke my back to carry into that house. Look, I can make the Bentley invisible. It’s not like the caretaker is going to notice it.”

“Until he wanders through the kitchen and suddenly runs into a solid wall of nothing. No, it stays here. If you don’t like it, you can drive it back to London and take your chances.”

He could feel Crowley glowering at him from behind the sunglasses as the demon performed the complicated hand gestures required to protect the love of his life. Aziraphale walked outside and left him to it, buttoning his camelhair coat against the cold as he exited the barn. All that was left for him to do was drive back to London with Crowley then find a way to get himself onto German soil. From there it was his mission to help ease the suffering of those persecuted by the Nazi government in any way he could. 

“Ready?” Crowley was suddenly beside him, the collar of his leather bomber jacket hiked up on the back of his neck to keep out the brisk wind. 

They headed back in the old car that Crowley planned to drive around London until this whole spat between European nations was over. Aziraphale was thankful he didn’t have to sit at the steering wheel pretending to drive it himself, although he did wish Crowley would slow down before they ended up in an accident. Speed demon.

“I’ll fly to Germany on my own wings if I have to,” he was currently saying in response to Crowley’s inquiry about how he was going to get there now that a lot of Europe was hostile towards that country or simply just outright wary, meaning border controls were tightening up, making travel much more difficult.

“Better fly higher than the bombers,” Crowley responded.

Aziraphale said nothing as they drove on towards London.

~*~*~

Aziraphale settled first in Berlin, moving in to a middle-class part of town where he could observe and learn before taking action. It seemed the Nazis were not too keen on books that did not peddle their brand of fascism. It felt odd to not have a bookshop out of which to operate, but such stores were not looked upon kindly under this regime. Reading and knowledge of the wrong kind attracted the kind of attention he did not want. Therefore, he chose to pretend he came from a wealthy family, but was trying to make a go of opening his own business when the war started and scuttled all his plans. People accepted it, naturally thinking that his rich relatives were helping keep him afloat during these difficult times. It wasn’t like he couldn’t miracle up anything he needed anyway, even though he did prefer to buy the items he required.

He kept himself out of the draft by shifting his features a bit so his face was lined like an older gentleman’s and his curly, blond head took on some grey hairs here and there, going completely white at the temples. It was enough of a change to explain why he wasn’t off fighting in the war effort.

Managing to find a group quietly helping smuggle Jews and members of other undesirable groups out of the country, Aziraphale aided them in their efforts, learning the ropes of carefully going out about the whole business without setting off alarms. The Nazis were not shy about making examples of those who sympathized with their chosen scapegoats.

Eventually he moved out of Berlin into a village that was a crossroads for smuggling Jews, the disabled, homosexuals and Romani out of harm's way.

Imagine his surprise at seeing Crowley one day wearing the uniform of a Nazi officer as he went about his daily shopping. He had to be on a mission because the demon would never voluntarily lift a finger to aid the Nazi’s kind of cruelty and had planned to stay in London out of the way until the war ended. Crowley’s body language screamed pure misery as he stood there beside a military vehicle discussing something of importance with two other Nazi officers. They seemed very interested in whatever the subject was; Crowley’s face remained impassive behind his sunglasses despite the signals his body was giving off. 

He caught Crowley’s eye, indicated the tavern just down the street with a slight head gesture and mouthed a time later in the evening. Crowley gave him a barely perceptible nod in return. Then both went about their business until the appointed time when each learned their purpose for being there.

Crowley had changed out of that dreadful uniform into a black suit with a grey shirt, which made Aziraphale glad when he met up with him at the chosen time and location. He was already nursing a glass of fruit brandy when Aziraphale showed up; that was never a good sign.

“I thought you were going to avoid Germany,” commented the angel as he slid into the chair across from the demon.

“Didn’t have a choice,” the demon replied sourly. “I do have better things to do than aid a bunch of Nazi halfwits with their cruelty. But when Dagon wants you on a mission you don’t say you’re not interested.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Aziraphale gave his order to the waitress who approached them.

“At least I’ve convinced them to keep records. Lots and lots of records. Maybe when everything’s said and done and the opposition has pounded these animals into the ground, they can use those records to figure out what happened to people.” Crowley took another sip of his brandy. “This kind of history should _not_ repeat itself.”

The waitress returned with the angel’s drink. He nodded thanks to her and paid for it. “What is your mission, anyway?”

“To gather as much insider information as possible so that Hell’s really heavy hitters can be sent to truly stir the pot,” Crowley replied miserably. 

Ever able to see the silver lining, Aziraphale nearly lit up. “That’s actually great news, my dear boy.”

“_What_?” hissed Crowley. “Has the alcohol gone to your head before you’ve even drank it? What’s so great about being part of a regime that mass murders people for being of the wrong religion and other stupid reasons?”

“Finish up your drink and let’s head back to my place. I’ll leave first, you wait about ten minutes then depart so we don’t look suspicious. Two men leave a bar together and they start thinking they might be gay.” Aziraphale made a discreet hand gesture and Crowley’s cocktail napkin contained an address along with a different route to get there than he would take. “I have an idea, if you’ll hear me out.”

With that, Aziraphale finished his own drink quickly then walked out.

Crowley, mostly because he was curious, found himself in Aziraphale’s sitting room actually listening to what the angel had to say. He slouched in a chair near Aziraphale’s radio not believing the word coming out of the angel’s mouth.

“Save people? You’re serious?”

“Of course I’m serious. You have access to inside information now. You can help me warn people and get them out of harm’s way,” Aziraphale was saying excitedly. “I’m rethinking opening some kind of shop. Probably just one that sells general goods since bookshops tend to attract the wrong kind of attention around here anymore. It’ll give us space to hide people. All we need to do is make use of glamours and whatever other miracles will keep them safe until we can get them across the borders.”

“I can’t do that, angel,” said Crowley miserably. “It’s not that I don’t want to . . . It’s that I’m being rather closely watched this time. And we won’t be able to save them all. I can’t be the one who decides who lives and who dies. I just can’t.”

“You’re clever. You can find a way to thwart Hell. I’ve never known you to not be able to pull the wool over their eyes,” Aziraphale replied. “I know deciding who gets saved is not going to be easy, but isn’t it better to save a few than allow all of them to die? We can make some criteria. Like children. You can’t let kids die. Remember the Great Flood? The Children’s Crusade? All the wars we’ve witnessed where innocents have been killed?”

“All to well. Don’t remind me, ok?” Crowley glared at him, upset that Aziraphale sometimes did know exactly what buttons to press to get him to comply. Crowley was never agreeable with allowing children to be slaughtered. It was one of his failings as a demon. “All right I’ll do it. I’m going to end up being tortured in the deepest pit in Hell thanks to you, angel.”

“We have a deal?” Aziraphale tentatively stuck out his hand, sky blue eyes hopeful.

With a groan, Crowley grasped and shook it. “We have a deal. I have an idea to pull one over on Hell. It might take a while to get implemented – two or three weeks, ok? Hell has decided that we need to make appointments to see the higher-ups. When I suggested bureaucracy might be the way to go, I didn’t expect they’d take to it like a fish to water.”

The angel nodded. “Will do. I’m probably going to sneak into a camp in the next few days. I want to see what we’re up against.”

“You watch yourself, Aziraphale. Transport out of there if you get into serious trouble. Don’t worry about the humans seeing you do miracles, ok?”

Crowley stood up and headed out the door.

~*~*~

A week later, Crowley headed to Hell to make a report to Dagon, lucky enough to get an appointment with him sooner than he expected. Pushing his way through the crowded hallways, he walked determinedly to Dagon’s office hoping that the Underlord of Hell didn’t see through his ruse. He knocked on the open door and Dagon invited him to enter. 

“Come in, Crowley. How are things going for us in Germany?” Dagon pushed aside the paperwork he was looking over, anxious for more good news from the war front. “Have a seat.”

Crowley put on his best worried look as he sat down in the chair before the desk.

“Heaven’s getting themselves quite the share of souls with all the deaths at the camps the camps and executions when Germany takes control of an area,” he said. “Honestly it concerns me. They’re being killed off at a high rate before we even have a chance to corrupt them. You’ve seen it. Our quotas aren’t what they used to be.”

Dagon gave him a thoughtful look as he tapped his fingers on his desk. “What do you propose?”

“That we save them,” said Crowley and before Dagon could do more than open his mouth to protest he pushed on. “Think about it. We can’t get to them once they’ve gotten their wings and harps, but if we keep a few alive, there’s a chance we can tarnish their souls enough to claim them for ourselves. Thousands are being executed each day. That’s a lot of souls for Up There. We’re not seeing more than a trickle. This won’t even the odds, but it’ll give us a fighting chance to up our quotas.”

After a bit of thought, Dagon had laughed in wicked delight at Crowley’s insidiously ingenious idea, clapping him on the back for being so devious as he sent him out the door back to Germany to save the lives of Nazi Germany’s undesirables so their souls could be tarnished in the future. 

Crowley sighed in relief as he navigated Hell’s hallways back to the entrance that would take him up to Earth. He deserved a medal for pulling one over on that bloody idiot.

~*~*~

Invisible to all, Aziraphale slipped into the camp to have his senses hit brutally with the conditions that existed there. Death, despair, human suffering on a level he had not seen in quite some time, all coming together to remind him that not only were humans capable of so much grace, they were also capable of so much malevolence. 

People who resembled skin-covered skeletons more than living humans lay listlessly in their stark wooden bunks waiting for death. The healthy ones were forced out each day to perform labour for their oppressors until the cruel toil mixed with the sparse rations killed them. There were always more people coming into the camps to replace those who passed on. 

The unheated barracks smelled of excrement and rotting flesh. He could hear the vermin scuttling around within the cold, primitive barracks themselves and shuddered to think of rats climbing over prisoners too weak to shoo the rodents away. Aziraphale could sense the disease in the air, the starvation, the cruelty of the camp staff and suffering of its prisoners. 

He heard shots from another part of the camp, not wanting to investigate the sounds. It did not take much imagination to suss out exactly what was happening a few blocks over and he wanted no part of that. What he had seen already would give anyone with even the smallest bit of empathy for their fellow human beings nightmares. Instead he sent a quiet prayer up to Heaven, hoping these poor souls were given a just reward for their suffering.

Reeling from all he took in, he snapped his fingers to return to his own flat above the little shop he had purchased just a few days ago after its owner miraculously discovered a rather large nest egg hidden away forgotten in a box he was inspecting while cleaning out his attic and decided to retire.

“Oh Crowley,” he said as he stumbled to the kitchen to pour himself a drink. “We have our work cut out for us.”

He spent the rest of the evening emptying several bottles of wine between intermittent bouts of sobbing in despair.

~*~*~

“Angel.”

Someone was shaking his shoulder. He lifted his head from the kitchen table blinking bleary-eyed at the fuzzy image of the demon in front of him. It had been a very long time since he allowed himself to get drunk enough to pass out. It was the only time he was ever unconscious and he found it disorienting.

“Crowley?” he murmured, his voice cracking a little as he realized how dry his mouth was.

The dark figure that was Crowley had disappeared. He heard someone rummaging around in his cabinets, the clink of glasses and finally the kitchen tap running for a moment or two. He heard a glass being set on the table before him with a thump more than he saw it, wincing at the sound.

“C’mon. Get some water into yourself and get rid of that hangover. You can’t wallow. This is not the time to wallow,” the demon was saying. “You want to save people then we need to work on this. I’m not due to report to those Nazi bastards again until morning, so here . . .”

A list was placed on the table – a list of names written in Crowley’s slanted, somewhat messy handwriting. Aziraphale did his best to focus on it as he drank the water and concentrated on banishing that throbbing headache of his.

“Don’t ask where I get these. It takes a demonic miracle or two and that’s all I’m saying,” Crowley continued. “Hell’s on board with this. I told Dagon it’s hard to gain souls for Hell when these wankers keep murdering everyone before their souls can be tarnished. I said we needed to save a few so we had a fighting chance at getting them.”

“I’m not sure if I should congratulate you on your cleverness or be horrified that you want to keep people alive so you can try to claim their souls.”

“I’m not going to do anything to them.” Crowley sounded annoyed that Aziraphale would even think such a thing. “How long have you known me? Have I ever done any major harm to innocent humans?”

“No.”

“Then quit worrying about it. I’m doing this because I rather like humans and Nazis make me sick.”

Aziraphale peered again at the list now that his headache was gone. “I have contacts willing to help us smuggle them across the border into Switzerland. I’ll see how many they can take. Once we know, we can go to the people on the list and try to convince them we can smuggle them out. I can hide local ones in my shop. Glamours should make sure nobody knows they’re there.”

“You do what you have to. I need to be careful and not blow my cover,” replied Crowley. “Let me think about how much I want to stick my neck out.”

Aziraphale didn’t push him. Getting names was a big thing and he didn’t want to jeopardize that. Hopefully it would be enough to soothe Crowley’s upset mind at least a small amount.


	2. Even the Best Ideas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is not handling his position as a Nazi officer well, but things are about to get worse as Aziraphale's plans to help smuggle a family out of the country blow up in both their faces.

Under the cover of night, Aziraphale led the small, scared family from their home to his shop, reassuring them they’d be safe in his backroom. Nobody needed to know he had used a miracle to expand the area just enough to house people comfortably even if it was still a bit tight.

The sound of voices permeated the silence in this dead street making Aziraphale’s heart jump. Throwing out an arm, he kept the family against the building they were passing by, rendering them invisible with a thought. Wide-eyed, they kept still, even the youngest daughter.

It was officers, who were having a smoke outside the club they frequented so that they could have a bit of conversation in a place where they didn’t have to shout at each other. Music could be heard drifting out from the building. Aziraphale, who had forgotten completely about that club, now wanted to kick himself. They’d be stuck here until the officers finished up their conversation. Invisibility would not be useful if one of the kids couldn’t handle the fear anymore and started to cry.

He need not have worried. Help was on the way.

“Hi, guys,” said a familiar voice, approaching the group of officers. “How’s it going?”

He felt Crowley open a quick mental link between them, something one usually asked to do, but given the circumstances, that bit of politeness had been set aside.

_Go_, Aziraphale heard in his mind. _Hurry. I won’t be able to hold them long._

“Let’s go, they’re distracted,” he whispered to the family, shepherding the four members through the danger and into the shadows down the next street. A few more blocks and they would be safe inside the shop. 

He sent wordless thanks mentally to Crowley. 

~*~*~

Aziraphale never find out exactly how Crowley got his information beyond “demonic miracle”. He was very sure the Nazis didn’t have lists lying around of the names of the people they planned on arresting next, but Crowley always knew. He’d slip them to the angel whenever he could, never talking about exactly what his position was as a Nazi officer. What information he gave was vague for the most part and oftentimes happened when he was extremely drunk in Aziraphale’s kitchen after witnessing more atrocities he couldn’t handle.

“I had to tour a camp today,” he slurred, not bothering anymore to pour the brandy into a glass as he was now too uncoordinated to get most of the liquid into the glass itself. “Do you know what that’s like?”

“Yes, my dear. I did check one out,” Aziraphale said gently. “You woke me up later that night after I drank myself in a stupor, remember?”

“Sort of,” Crowley responded. “I had to tour one of those damned camps today. We were taken on a tour of a medical facility inside it where they were experimenting on prisoners. They’re butchering people in the name of science, angel. While I was there they had one poor bugger in freezing cold water. Said he had been there for hours and that they were going to try to rewarm him by putting him boiling water. Boiling water, angel. Right there in front of us.”

Haunted eyes looked at Aziraphale from over his sunglasses. Crowley took another swig from the bottle before continuing. “I stopped the man’s heart. I _killed_ someone just to keep them from having to suffer an even more horrible death. I don’t just take lives, Aziraphale. I have morals, you know.”

Aziraphale felt sick to his stomach at what Crowley was forced to do. He reached out to compassionately pat the demon’s hand. “What you did was right. It was a mercy, my dear. Think about how that man would have suffered being boiled alive.”

He was interrupted by a knock at the door. With one final squeeze of Crowley’s hand, he went to answer it. Two teenagers and an adult woman in her forties to early fifties stood there, all three of them looking panicked. Aziraphale quickly waved them in after checking for any possible spies that may have followed them looking for those who aided Jewish refugees.

“We were told you hide Jews and help them get across the border into Switzerland,” said the woman quietly as she eyed Crowley in his Nazi uniform, her breathing coming harder as she thought that they were tricked and now going to be shipped off to the camps.

Still alert enough to rectify the situation, Crowley changed his clothes with a wave of his hand and modified the humans’ memories so that they didn’t remember seeing a Nazi officer through the doorway leading to Aziraphale’s kitchen. He moved himself further into the room where the three of them couldn’t see him at all to listen.

“They took my husband. They came to our neighbourhood and rounded up all the able-bodied men for forced labour,” the woman was saying to Aziraphale. “My husband told us to run before they came. He gave me your information and we headed out the back door of the house into the forest behind the town to hide.”

“I have connections, my dear lady,” Aziraphale said. “We can get you and your children out, I promise. Now, I have a backroom downstairs in my shop where I can hide you. It’s not luxurious by any standards, but you’ll be warm and safe. There are beds and food there. I promise nobody will find you. I have four others staying there until my contacts can arrive and help you across the border.”

He led them downstairs via a different route than the outside door leading to a staircase to his upper floor flat that they previously took. This one was indoors and led directly to the backroom, making it a safe way to move the family without arising suspicion.

Upon reaching a door at the bottom of the stairs, he rapped out a certain rhythm on the door developed to help make the refugees feel safer. Nobody was going to find them here if Aziraphale didn’t want them found, but he could hardly reveal his celestial origins to those he helped.

There was the sound of a deadbolt sliding out of place then the door was opened partially, a bit warily. A brown-haired man with a haunted look on his face peered out before his nerves dissipated.

“Oh, it’s just you, Ezra. Sorry. I always worry we’ll be found.”

“Don’t you worry, my dear fellow. That won’t happen on my watch. I have some company for you.” He showed the man the woman and her teenage children and the door opened to admit the four of them. “Do you all have everything you need for the night?”

“Yes, thank you.” 

“Ok, then. Introductions. I’m Ezra. We only exchange first names for safety reasons,” he explained to the newcomers.

“Henrich,” said the man. “Sleeping back there are my wife Eva and our two children Robert and Ziva.”

“I’m Eta and these are my daughters Izabel and Marlene.”

Aziraphale smiled at them all. “I’m sure you want to get some rest. I’m going to head back upstairs so I don’t arouse any suspicion. I will keep you informed on what’s going on and don’t you worry. We will get you across the border safely.”

He headed back upstairs to a sober Crowley standing in the sitting room, looking extremely serious.

“What’s wrong?” he asked the demon.

“Your contact Hans was here briefly but he wouldn’t talk to me until I made the mental suggestion that I was trustworthy,” said Crowley. “The lorry driver was arrested in a raid and there’s no one else available to help right now. Everyone’s scared and laying low.”

“We can’t leave them in my backroom forever,” said Aziraphale as he sank into one of his armchairs upon hearing the news. He combed his hands through his blond hair in frustration. “What are we going to do?”

“Have any other contacts?”

“Not close ones, but there are a couple I can try to get a message to.”

There was silence for a moment before the thought popped into Aziraphale’s mind. He looked up at Crowley, who was rubbing a temple with one hand in frustration. If he’d agree, it would be perfect.

“You know how to drive.”

“No, angel. I can’t get involved like that.”

“Not even if I’m able to get the lorry?”

“No. I’m being watched,” Crowley snapped back. “How do I explain my absence to the higher-ups in this ridiculous regime’s military? If I get killed, Hell’s not going to be happy with me.”

Aziraphale’s temper flared. Crowley was just not getting it with all the wallowing in misery he was doing lately. “And Dagon thinks you’re smuggling people out so Hell has souls to tarnish. Now do your job!”

People out there needed help escaping this Hell on Earth and Aziraphale knew he couldn’t do it alone. He needed the demon’s help badly. Using magic to drive a car on a nice, relatively smooth road was one thing. Using it to take a lorry through rough terrain to try to smuggle people into another country was another.

Crowley reeled on him, angry. “I get you lists. How much more do you want?”

The angel’s eyes filled with tears as he stared down his friend. “I want you to help save them so you never have to stop another innocent victim’s heart because you have no choice in the matter.”

Turning, he started to stomp off to the kitchen, hoping Crowley would just leave if he was going to be useless. He had some planning to do and some distant contacts to get ahold of if he didn’t have a driver for that lorry. A hand shooting out to grab his wrist stopped him.

Startled, he looked down at Crowley’s hand for a moment before looking up into his sunglass-covered eyes.

“Ok. You win. Get that lorry and I’ll drive it.” 

~*~*~

Aziraphale sat in a nearby park feeding the pigeons, waiting for the man who was his contact to arrive. He pretended he was more interested in the pigeons cooing for birdseed around his feet than he was in the people milling around the park. No chances could be taken that any part of their clandestine efforts would be heard by the wrong people. Aziraphale could get himself out of trouble easily enough but that did not hold true for his fellow conspirators.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement as a brown-haired man in a rather plain jumper sat down on the other side of the bench opening up a newspaper to read it.

“Hear you have a driver,” he said into the paper.

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied head down and apparently more interested in his bag of bird seed than his bench partner.

“Who is it?”

Aziraphale threw out a bit more seed. “A friend of mine.”

“Name?” The man turned a page causally.

“Anthony.”

“No last name?”

“I don’t know how things work in your particular circle, but in ours we only use first names. People don’t feel safe giving out their surnames when any one of us could be captured at any time.”

“Anthony’s an English name.”

“He’s not English. He just didn’t like his original name so he changed it. I do not understand what that has to do with anything.”

“Germany’s becoming rather xenophobic so we have to be careful, that’s all. How long have you known this friend?”

“A very long time.”

“Years then?”

_Millennia more like it_, thought Aziraphale, but he said, “Many, many years. We met on our first jobs when we were young. He’s been the one helping me get lists of those in danger.”

“He’d better be trustworthy because if he gets resistance members killed, we’ll make sure neither you nor he gets out of this alive.” The man turned another page and gave him a quick glance. “I’ll leave the lorry parked outside your shop tomorrow morning before sunrise. A delivery vehicle won’t look out of place, I should think. There’ll be instructions in it on where to drive it back to when you’re done. Good luck.”

For paranoia’s sake, they shared that bench silently until Aziraphale distributed all of his supply of birdseed and got up to dispose of the empty bag. The man continued to read his newspaper for a while after the angel had gone. Then he folded it up, strolled around the park a bit and finally felt safe leaving.

~*~*~

“The lorry will be here tomorrow morning,” Aziraphale informed Crowley who was once again getting himself drunk at the kitchen table.

“Ok.”

Aziraphale had no idea where Crowley lived as the demon was almost constantly over at Aziraphale’s flat when he wasn’t on duty. The angel suspected he needed the company after learning day after day of all the horrors the Nazis dreamed up to try out on people they didn’t like. Although it was unlikely the alcohol would cause Crowley any lasting damage, Aziraphale still worried about the amounts he was taking in these days. He was in Aziraphale’s kitchen almost every night, sometimes drinking himself nearly unconscious, only waking up to rid himself of his hangover in time to report for duty.

On those nights, Aziraphale usually had to help him to the bedroom in the early morning hours when he became too drunk to stumble there on his own two feet. Some nights he stood in the doorway worrying about Crowley’s condition, wondering if it was possible for a demon to discorporate due to pure misery and also wondering if he stayed and watched over his friend, it was possible for him prevent it from happening.

Aziraphale strode over to grab the booze off the table, eliciting an angry protest from Crowley. He ignored it, taking the bottle to the sink to pour it down the drain.

“What are you doing?”

“You need to stay sober for a few hours for once.”

“It’s not like I can’t sober up immediately!” shouted the demon crossly.

“Crowley, for just one night, I’d like you to not pickle your brain so you’re alert for tomorrow morning. This is important. We’re going to be traveling hundreds of miles with a lorry full of people who desperately need out of this country. I need you properly prepared.” Aziraphale was getting out some maps that he had been carefully studying and marking out routes to Switzerland, hoping to hit as few checkpoints as possible.

He plopped the maps in front of Crowley who looked at the routes traced on them in different colours of ink, examining the terrain around them. 

“You do realize to get to the place where we hand them off to the Swiss resistance people, it means going through those steep hills right there?”

“Well, if it gets too hard, we put our passengers into a deep sleep and fly the lorry over rough terrain,” replied Aziraphale. “I’m worried about checkpoints. How do they work?”

“We should be ok if we can avoid towns. It’s not like they stick them out in the middle of forests or anything.”

“Unless we leave the roads, we’re going to have to go through towns. Do you know where the checkpoints are at?”

“No, I’m not privy to that information. It’s not like we can’t use a few miracles to get through them if needs be.” Crowley had drained what little alcohol remained in his glass and was seriously contemplating refilling it with a wish, Aziraphale’s desires be damned. 

The angel must have read his mind for he found the glass unceremoniously plucked from his fingers and taken to the kitchen sink. He glared after Aziraphale for a moment before returning to the map to trace one particular route over with a finger.

“This one makes the most sense to take. Fewer towns. More difficult terrain to cover, but that won’t bother me any. It’s not like I have the limitations a human driver would.”

“Ok, if you believe you can handle it, I’ll trust you.”

“Now that we’ve figured that out, can I have a drink?”

“No, Crowley. You can manage to stay sober until those people are safe and sound.”

Crowley groaned as he headed for the bedroom. “Ok, ok. But I’m going to go get my head down for a few hours, then. Wake me when it’s time to go.”

~*~*~

It was right before dawn when Aziraphale headed downstairs quietly to rouse his backroom guests. The lorry had appeared, suddenly parked in front of the shop just as he was informed it would be. He carefully had slipped outside, checking the alley, streets and buildings around the shop for any sign he or his shop were being watched. One could never be too careful. 

Deciding to use a miracle, he placed his fingers on his temples, closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment, reaching out to feel for any minds in the area with evil intentions. All he managed to scan were sleeping ones as well as one poor person who lay awake with worry a couple of flats down. He automatically tried to soothe them a bit before breaking contact to get back to his work.

He set the illusion that there was an actual delivery going in, complete with an imaginary delivery man appearing to take boxes into the shop. 

The inhabitants of the backroom were up and ready to go. Aziraphale escorted them out into the back of the van along with enough supplies to see them through a few days on the road. He had absolutely no idea how long it would actually take.

Of course they could travel without stopping since neither he nor Crowley needed rest, making the trip that much faster. They just had to convince their passengers that they were taking turns actually driving.

Crowley was already in the driver’s seat perusing the map when Aziraphale got in. “Got them all packed up?”

He had dressed the part of delivery man, forgoing a suit for a black button-down shirt and work trousers. Aziraphale had a similar look in a white shirt and beige trousers, although he did keep his tartan bowtie.

“You make it sound like they’re luggage,” replied Aziraphale irritably.

Crowley sighed. “Quit being so tetchy. You know what I mean.”

He started the lorry, put it into gear and they were off. Aziraphale felt his nerves rise as they rumbled along down the mostly quiet streets, the sun just starting to peek up over the eastern horizon. This was going to be okay. They’d make it across the border. Everything would be fine. They had means of dealing with problems humans lacked. 

“Calm down, angel. Nothing is going to happen.”

Was his nervousness that obvious?

The two of them chatted during the drive over to the next town, mostly about the French wines both missed dearly. Mundane to the point of boredom. This hardly felt like some super-secret mission to smuggle “undesirables” across the border to keep them from being murdered by the SS. That is, until they drove through the next town, where a checkpoint awaited them. Crowley swore a bit when he saw it as it would only slow them down.

“What now?” whispered Aziraphale.

“Stay calm, we’ll be fine,” replied Crowley. “Put the passengers to sleep. We need them quiet.”

With that instruction, he snapped his fingers, turning their working class clothing into Nazi uniforms while the lorry had become a military vehicle. Crowley was holding a packet of papers. Aziraphale winced, looking down at himself but said nothing. 

Crowley curled his lip at him a bit. “Work with me, Aziraphale. I hate the uniform, too, but we want to get through this without having to do serious miracling here.”

A solider approached the lorry, gun slung casually over his shoulder. Greetings, such as they were between military personnel, were exchanged, Crowley handed over some paperwork and Aziraphale held his breath as the solider perused it. Giving it back to Crowley, he waved them on. Aziraphale began to breathe again.

“All right,” said Crowley as he put the lorry in gear, taking off at a prudent speed for once. “That’ll work for checkpoints. Let’s get out of town and we can switch everything back to normal.”

Carefully, as to not attract attention, Crowley wove his way through the streets, finally exiting town about a half hour later. A few miles down the road they found a spot abandoned enough to change everything back to the way it was. 

Aziraphale got out to check on their passengers. So far so good. Everyone had awakened from the sleep he put them in with no problem; they were none the wiser about what they just went through.

“Can we go now?” asked the demon petulantly.

“Have some patience, Crowley.”

“I just want this over with, angel. I’m supposed to be collecting information, not taking four or so days’ leave from my job.”

Aziraphale let it go, recognizing Crowley wasn’t really upset about helping the refugees from his backroom, but expressing nervousness over the checkpoint in the only way he knew how. He was going to have to steel himself for more such behaviour if they kept hitting barriers along the way. At least the demon was helping out; for that the angel was very grateful.

~*~*~

Standing dauntingly in front of them was rougher terrain in the form of the hills by the German-Swiss border, the last obstacle they had to cross before they could pass off the refugees to those others waiting to help them to freedom. They were in the High Rhone area, where the river had carved deep into the geography, leaving behind hills and valleys.

“Well,” said Crowley. “Here we go.”

They had just made a stop so everyone could have a crude bathroom break in the wilderness while Aziraphale also chatted with the mortals and checked on supplies. So far everyone’s spirits were still high. Even Crowley was in a good enough mood to get out of the lorry and converse a bit with the humans. 

Ten minutes later, everyone climbed back in for the final leg of their journey.

The lower altitudes posed little problem for Crowley’s driving skills, but he had really only driven in the terrain found in and around London, which was a far cry from climbing hilly regions with a lorry. It was slow going and he was sweating by the time they reached the halfway point. Even Aziraphale’s anxiousness was beginning to show again.

They bumped along at a crawl at times at they wound around and slowly upward on roads that sometimes were little more than dirt tracks on the forest floor. Gradually progress was made, but stops were frequent to check on the refugees’ well-being upon Aziraphale’s insistence. Riding back there being tossed around by the bumpy roads couldn’t have been fun in his estimation, but the constant stopping got on Crowley’s nerves so much that after a while he refused to pull over, saying a little discomfort wasn’t going to hurt them. 

Then finally after what seemed like a lifetime of driving up the rough terrain, they came to the top. Evening had fallen although Aziraphale wasn’t sure how many hours they had actually spent in the hills. It could have half a day, it could have been more. The tenseness of the situation – and the fact he had accidentally left his pocket watch at home – made him completely lose track of time. 

To their dismay, there was a patrol occurring along this border in the middle of nowhere, something Aziraphale hadn’t even thought of. Even worse, they had been spotted. Before the bullets started flying their direction, he was out of the cab, around the back and ripping the doors open. 

“Run for it! There are guards!”

Crowley was beside him, throwing up a quick shield, but he was too late. Aziraphale was hit in the leg and arm, going down. Panicking, he reached for him, but the angel shook his head.

“No! Get them to the border! Transport if you have to. I’ll be the distraction.”

The humans were huddled beside the lorry, the younger ones crying, all of them cringing, praying the bullets didn’t hit them. Torn between helping his friend and getting the humans out of harm’s way, Crowley acquiesced to Aziraphale’s wishes, if only because the angel would be very upset at him for abandoning humans in a dangerous situation. He got them to grab each other’s hands while he gripped the hand of the nearest woman. With a snap of his fingers, they disappeared to reappear safely on the other side, hidden in a copse of thick trees.

He modified their memories, making them think they were forced to walk over, while surveying the area for their rendezvous. Their guide from this point on was not far away, hidden in the lush forest from the guards distracted by Aziraphale. Taking a frightfully long time, Crowley finally identified the vehicle they were supposed to meet then pointed the families that direction, saying he had to go back for his friend. With that, he was gone. Their new guide could get them further into Switzerland since that was their job. Getting Aziraphale to safety was now his primary concern. 

But he was too late. Aziraphale and the guards were gone. Unfurling his wings, he flew high to see where they had driven off to, but the thick trees kept him from seeing anything. The time wasted looking for their liaison gave them the chance to get away.

At least they left the lorry. He shakily got in it. Banging his hand on the steering wheel, Crowley sat there in shock and anger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun writing the question and answer conversation between Aziraphale and his contact because while Aziraphale is giving honest answers, he's having to hide the details for obvious reasons. :)


	3. Verschärfte Vernehmung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He had to help himself this time. Aziraphale could not expect Crowley to come to the rescue when he was being moved around secretly. He could only hope he would be able to get out and find the demon before Crowley started to blame himself for his failure._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has scenes of violence in it. The Nazis aren't nice to Aziraphale (or their fellow human beings, for that matter) and Crowley isn't nice to the Nazis.
> 
> Really I'm not a violent person. I've just discovered I can do whump very well . . .
> 
> No update if you've read through Chapter Three, sorry. I came here to read and noticed that I had a draft. Why do I have a draft? So I go to check it out and find that on this story there are two Chapter Threes. One's published, one's saved as a draft as Chapter Four. So what do I do? My dumb ass accidentally deletes the published chapter, which has now been republished. Again, sorry about that guys.

He lay there on the concrete slab in the cell they put him in curled in the fetal position trying to block out the pain. Their interrogation of him had turned physical, leaving him with a lot to heal. With a groan, he tried concentrating on the flat above his shop, attempting to transport himself there. It wasn’t with Crowley, but it was a place Aziraphale knew well and could get to without making a mistake in his hurt state.

But he couldn’t fix on the point long or well enough to actually transport. Miracling wasn’t always infallible. If you were going to transport, you’d better know where you were going or you might end up someplace else by mistake, which was just a waste of power, especially in his weakened state. Plus he was unconsciously already pouring power into healing himself to keep his spirit from just outright abandoning his body all together, meaning he had less power to work with when it came to escaping this cell.

He had the option of just letting go and allowing his spirit to return to Heaven to await a new body. He could probably get away with discorporating without too much of a lecture over losing the body since he did so saving humans, but he wasn’t about to leave Crowley alone for an unspecified amount of time in a hostile country, given Crowley’s current mental state. Aziraphale had no way of knowing if the Department of Requisitions had on hand enough bodies for the angels waiting for them or how long the line was to receive one, if not. It could still take months. He had no choice but to stay here to heal himself just as much as he needed so he could transport, then head home. 

Slowly turning over to keep the pain at a minimum, he hoped his sacrifice meant Crowley and the refugees escaped that catastrophe safely then set himself to concentrating on his healing.

~*~*~  
  


Crowley forced himself to sit in the lorry until he was as calm as he was going to get. There was no point in trying to track down a military vehicle when he had no idea where they were heading. There had to be a better way; he just had to think of it.

He felt stupid when it came to him. 

With a snap of his fingers, he enchanted the lorry and flew it home in several hours. Leaving it at the place they were instructed to, he transported to his house where he put on his uniform before reporting for duty.

“Crowley,” said a fellow officer. “I didn’t expect to see you back so soon. I thought you had a couple of more days.”

It seemed to just slide off everyone’s mind that “Crowley” was far from a honest-to-goodness German surname. The demon figured Hell had something to do with that when they handed him a Nazi uniform and enough of a German pedigree to earn him a higher rank. For all he knew, they thought they were saying “Schmidt”.

“Chronister,” he acknowledged the man. “There was a capture at the border so I got called back in. I was just a town over checking up on my father. He’s not doing well these days.”

Chronister nodded. “Sorry to hear that. Yes, they captured one. About eight or so got away, unfortunately. If they follow protocol, they’ll interrogate him to see if he had help that’s still in the country. This kind of activity can’t be allowed to continue.”

Crowley felt his blood run cold for he knew interrogation was more than just asking a prisoner questions. He also knew it was hard to transport when you had major healing to do and his concern for Aziraphale ramped up by several notches. “No. No, it can’t. I’d better go report. Hope they get the information they need.”

He headed on down the hallway as if this was just a normal day in a normal mission.

The Gestapo. That was the group he’d have to infiltrate since they dealt with dissenters these days. Aziraphale would be at the mercy of their interrogators; the regular police and justice system no longer handled prisoners who helped out the Jews. He swallowed his panic, knowing a little about what they did to people before sending them off to Dachau, the current holding camp for political prisoners.

He had to find Aziraphale and break him out, wherever he was.

~*~*~

Try as they might, his interrogators couldn’t get Aziraphale to break. They had fastened leg screws to his legs that bit in deep, leaving large holes and threatening to break bone, and beaten him with clubs and other various implements. His clothes were shredded in places and his skin wasn’t faring much better. Deep cuts covered his back, some cutting right into the muscles.

When he would not say more than he worked alone and the refugees he was helping made it across the border, he was thrown back in his cell for three days without medical attention, the blood from his most recent cuts pooling on the concrete floor. He cringed to think about what that would have done to a human.

Those three days were a blessing when it came to being able to heal as they were three days of not having more serious injuries heaped on his already fragile body. He lay there on the too-thin mattress placed on the slab that served as a bed, turning often thanks to the extensive lacerations that now covered him, willing his power into his wounds to weave them shut. The biggest problems were the bullet wounds. Luckily they were through-and-through shots so no bullets remained in his body, but he was afraid the one in his upper arm was getting infected, thanks to extensive injuries that spread his healing powers thin. He tried putting more healing into that area, hoping to combat it.

Their torture techniques were more than physical brutality. They cut his rations to practically nothing. For days, they kept him awake. He had no contact with anyone but the interrogator, not one guard would acknowledge his existence. All actions that would break a human. He acted as hungry and sleep deprived as possible, but his captors were disappointed in the lack of results, so back to the physical assaults it was.

One day he let them think he had cracked in hopes they would leave him in his cell a while instead of adding to the serious lacerations and bruises he was quickly collecting. He was sure one kidney was damaged enough to become inflamed. It was a good thing he didn’t require its blood-cleaning abilities, but if it became infected like the bullet wound, he would be in big trouble.

“Franz!” he lied. “His name was Franz. I don’t know his last name because he said his cell wouldn’t give those out in case one of them was captured. I don’t know where he worked out of. I run a shop in Cologne and was recruited because I have a delivery lorry.”

The interrogator seemed pleased to get this little bit of information out of him. They pried for more, but Aziraphale remained quiet no matter what they did to him. One interrogator probed the infected bullet wound in his arm with a knife that resulted in a flood of pus and blood from the wound, leaving him screaming until the man decided to remove it. A hard smack across his face opened up a cut on his cheek. He endured blows and kicks to his ribs for a thankfully short amount of time before they gave up, taking him back in his cell.

Laying there on the ground in severe pain thanks to a couple of broken ribs, he tried to remember to not breathe. His kidneys were so damaged both had shut down, raising his risk of even more infection ravaging his already weakened body.

That night he lay on the thin mattress feeling feverish for the first time in his life. 

~*~*~

Crowley had located the records on Aziraphale’s imprisonment after a long, agonizing search. Standing there holding them in an SS office that housed a Gestapo unit in Berlin, he nearly reacted with relief right there in the office in front of Nazi agents. He let out a breath in an attempt to contain his feelings as his shaking hands opened up the dossier filled with little information.

They had nothing on him. No name, he was just identified as a blue-eyed blond with a bit more information that was a bunch of fabrications. Aziraphale was lying to protect him and paying the price for it. He read the words “verschärfte Vernehmung” in the report. Enhanced interrogation. Crowley’s entire body went so numb upon reading those words; he almost fumbled the dossier.

Swallowing as best he could with a dry mouth, he skimmed further until he found the information he needed. He knew where the angel was. Pulling out a photograph of Aziraphale they had taken of him after his capture, he tossed the dossier on the floor where it burned inconspicuously. He was stepping out the door and on to the street before the folder was ash.

_I am coming for you, angel. Just hang on. Please . . ._

~*~*~

They had transferred him when it became clear Aziraphale was not going to tell them anything useful. It surprised him that they didn’t just take him out to execute him right then and there when they realized he was not going to give up any information on his resistance ring. He had prepared for it – what he was going to say to Gabriel and put on the paperwork so hopefully he’d get a new body with as little of a waiting period as possible. Instead he found himself in a camp for political prisoners where they probably hoped he’d die a more miserable death than a simple execution by bullet to the head. 

He lay limply on a fusty straw mattress in a crowded barrack with injured or diseased people who had all but given up on life. The smells no longer bothered him and a simple spell kept parasites from biting him as well as rats from crawling over his body. He had done his best to turn off his angelic empathy because not only was he pretty sure the extremely emaciated man in the bunk above him was no longer a member of the living population, it appeared several more around him were heading that direction as well.

He tried not to dwell on the goings-on in the barracks, thinking only of healing himself. All he had to do was persevere and he’d make it through this ordeal in a few days. Unlike humans, he wouldn’t suffer from lack of food or water. If he could heal himself enough, he would not catch any of the fatal diseases running rampant among the camp’s population. If he acted like he was dying, they’d leave him alone in his bunk where he could put all his effort into healing instead of dragging him out to do hard labour.

He tried not to worry as he worked on his wounds. They had kept moving him around when he was in the Gestapo’s custody and he knew Crowley would be searching for him. The demon never failed to get him out of trouble when he needed help, but he would have to track the angel down first. He would be chasing what leads he could while Aziraphale was being moved about like a piece in a giant shell game, sometimes secretly at night and he was certain those moves weren’t being put into records.

He had to help himself this time. Aziraphale could not expect Crowley to come to the rescue when he was being moved around secretly. He could only hope he would be able to get out and find the demon before Crowley started to blame himself for his failure.

The sound of boots approaching on the pounded dirt floor roused him from his trance-like state, bringing him to full alertness. 

“Get them out of here. All of them. They’re useless to us.”

Aziraphale quickly turned himself invisible.

Lower-ranking camp staff got those they could get standing out of their bunks, Aziraphale quietly getting himself down to follow along. They were marched out towards a building that chilled Aziraphale to his very core.

They were going to execute these people. A lump in his throat, he followed them in to the gas chamber. He stayed invisible, hoping to bless these doomed souls before their journey to the afterlife. It was the least he could do. He was not prepared for what the carbon monoxide seeping in did to them. He watched them as they panicked, choking and suffocating on the deadly fumes. 

Unfurling his wings, he appeared to them in full angelic form, shining, beautiful, dressed in the whitest of robes. He could feel it sapping him of energy, but he kept that form, holding out his hands to the dying who were suddenly calm.

“Hold on to me,” he said. “Let me take you peacefully into the next life.”

He stood there for about fifteen minutes, fleeting mortal life surrounding him, grateful for his presence and his angelic love, all with at least one hand touching him. One by one, they let go, their hands falling off his robes as their bodies collapsed and their souls fled the world. One by one, he wished them well.

Then it was just him. One shining angel, fighting his own wounds, standing alone in the center of a pile of bodies. Tears in his eyes, he become human-looking, then invisible again. Heavy of heart, he left the appalling scene.

He still had enough strength left to transport short distances, thus could easily get himself outside the perimeter of the camp, sobbing because he couldn’t save anyone but himself. Feeling sick to his human stomach, he watched the camp staff ventilate the chamber so it could be emptied. Guiltily, he drew upon the limited reserves of power he had and transported the small distance outside the perimeter of the camp, feeling worthless because he could not save even one of those doomed to die.

Sitting invisible, curled up in a ball with his knees against his chest, he wept uncontrollably, thinking himself a failure as an angel. The only reason he didn’t join the rest of the victims in death was because he couldn’t leave Crowley. Otherwise he would have followed them all to the gas chamber and left his body behind as penance for not being able to save them from such a horrible fate.

~*~*~

The Nazi uniform was gone and the bespoke suit back as Crowley stood before the prison where Aziraphale had been kept, eyes blazing behind his sunglasses. He had given up caring when they took the angel. _His_ angel. 

Fuming with barely contained anger, he walked in the door to find security pointing very large guns at him. Wings unfurled, he grabbed the nearest guard by the neck with a clawed hand and slammed him against the wall. Pulling out the photo of Aziraphale, he flashed it to the terrified man.

“Where is he?” he snarled, very pointed canine teeth very apparent.

“I-I-I don’t know w-w-who’s k-k-kept here. I j-j-just guard the d-d-doors,” the guard stammered. 

Crowley threw him aside. He crumpled to the floor where he lay still, neck at an angle not found in living humans. Turning to the other guards who stood there guns pointed at the man who suddenly grew wings before their eyes, he flexed his claws. 

The other two attempted to run for it, but they didn’t make it far before they were hit with some of Crowley’s power, going down before they could escape to alert others to what was going on at the prison. Angry blisters formed where it hit them, leaving them writhing in pain on the floor.

Crowley moved on further into the building itself, walking through room after room, most of the men in those rooms fleeing before him. He eventually came to the area containing cell after cell of mistreated prisoners. A locked door and two more guards stood between him and it. The demon once again found himself staring down the barrels of a couple of guns.

With a wave of his hand, the gun barrels bent into angles that would make it impossible to shoot. He grabbed a guard by the shoulder, easily piercing his skin with his claws. “Open the door.”

He was handed the keys. Not feeling very charitable, Crowley raked his claws down the man’s side, exposing muscle and bone to the air, blood gushing out over the guard and Crowley’s suit. The other guard fled as his companion screamed in agony. Sneering at the escape attempt, Crowley hit him with a powerful blast, leaving a blackened, blistered patch of burned skin on the man’s back. He fell to the floor, twisting in severe anguish like the others before him. 

The more barricades they put up in his way, the more furious Crowley became.

Keys ignored, Crowley blew the locked barred doors clean off their hinges, entering the area containing cells. Guard after guard tried to stop him, but he wrapped a shield around himself that made shooting him impossible then cut down every single one who attempted to fight him hand-to-hand. The floor was littered with men whose bodies sported deep slashes courtesy of Crowley’s claws. The demon left behind footprints of blood as he walked on. He was quite sure most would never get up again but he didn’t care. Not after what he had learned all these months about what Nazis did to innocent people. They deserved it if he ripped the throat out of every single one of them.

_You want souls, Dagon? _he thought maliciously. _Here are your souls._

With a wave of his hand, all the cell doors opened, but no prisoners appeared. 

“It’s ok! You can come out! I won’t hurt you. I only hurt Nazis,” the demon called. “Aziraphale! Are you in here?”

Several men exited, looking somewhat worse for the wear thanks to their time spent in the abusive prison system. Others he had to coax from their cells. They crouched in the corners like so many frightened animals with their eyes looking barely human.

He ignited hellfire on his fist, wings extending to their impressive full length. “All you prisoners need to get out of here or you’ll burn alive. This place is going up in smoke in about two minutes.”

The remaining cells that were still occupied emptied. Crowley refused to allow any living guards leave, despite their begging with terrified eyes fixated on the hellfire crackling along his hands.

One final time he felt for Aziraphale’s aura while checking each and every cell in the place a second time just to make sure. The angel wasn’t here. Pushed beyond his limits, Crowley’s anger and grief grew to the point that he didn’t care what sort of spectacle he was creating anymore. The entire place exploded with hellfire before he walked out, emerging from the blazing remains of the front door as if it was a normal, everyday occurrence.

Nobody tried to stop him from leaving the area.

~*~*~

Transporting in short hops with frequent rests in between to allow his power to replenish, Aziraphale got himself back to his flat in about twelve hours. Weak and shaking with cold despite being feverish, he collapsed on to the couch in his stained clothing, not caring if he transferred dirt and blood to the cushions. He could always clean that up later. The last action he performed before passing out was to conjure himself a warm quilt.

~*~*~

Crowley’s further investigations, which weren’t always clandestine or gentle, led him to the concentration camp Aziraphale was shipped to. He snapped his fingers and was now on the wing above the camp, catching a whiff of angelic scent as he hovered above, looking down at the horrible camp filled with inhumane cruelty. Following it, he landed a short distance outside the fence to investigate. Aziraphale had been here and if he was reading the clues right, he had managed to get himself outside the perimeters where he transported away. The scent was only a couple of days old at the most and probably more recent than that, which gave Crowley hope. The logical outcome of this situation was that Aziraphale took himself home.

Folding in his wings, Crowley transported himself to Aziraphale’s flat above the shop.

Popping into the sitting room, he found his best friend unconscious, but healing, lying under a quilt on the couch. Crowley’s heart wept to see him in such a state. Kneeling beside the couch, he pushed a curly lock off of Aziraphale’s forehead, tenderly placing a kiss there on the feverish skin.

_I thought I lost you, angel. _

The loss would have been temporary, but to think that Aziraphale would have discorporated thanks to his inability to protect him would have been a guilt that ate at Crowley for a very long time. As it was, he felt responsible for Aziraphale’s current predicament. He should have been thinking clearly enough to at least throw some invisibility over the angel before he got the humans across the border.

Sitting down on the floor in front of the couch, he added his healing powers to Aziraphale’s, boosting the angel’s ability to get over the infections that ravaged his body as well as heal the bullet wounds and other injuries, internal and external. Leaning his head back on an empty patch of cushion, he closed his eyes and let sleep take him while his and Aziraphale’s healing abilities did their job.

~*~*~

“We still need to help out, despite what happened,” Aziraphale was saying as he tucked away the breakfast Crowley had made for him several days later.

He had awoken earlier that morning healed and ready to move on with their mission while Crowley tried to convince him to slow down for a bit so his body completely recuperated. Aziraphale might be a celestial spirit walking around in a body he wore like a suit, but that body had been through a lot. Normal operations were not happening right now. It needed to be healed completely before he went back to treating it as just housing for his spirit.

He was never going to get Aziraphale to take to the idea of sleep, even if only temporarily, but at least he could get him to eat to aid in recovery. It was better than nothing.

“I’m going to continue with my work here. I can’t just pack up and head back home after what I’ve experienced. I have to save those I can.”

“All right. Fine. We’ll both stay because I’m not letting you do this alone. And we’re never taking refugees to the border again unless we have some experts with us. I’ll stay with the Nazis so I can get you lists.”

“Thank you,” said the angel very solemnly. He knew what staying here playing the part of a Nazi was going to cost Crowley. He just hoped beyond hope the drinking didn’t become too rampant or the psychological damage too lasting. “I’ll agree to take a few weeks of rest in return. Sound good?”

To Crowley, it did. 

Three weeks later, he was back to slipping lists to Aziraphale, who was back to making sure his resistance ring got them out of harm’s way. Crowley admired his ability to bounce back the way he did after the horrors he had experienced. The demon sure didn’t share that capacity. It took less than two months before he was back to drinking heavily again. Aziraphale made sure it happened in his kitchen where Crowley’s mouth couldn’t get him into trouble. The last thing they needed was for him to make scathing social commentary in some tavern somewhere where the wrong people could hear him.

The demon was already thinking of ways to get out of this mission and convince Aziraphale to return to England with him. It wasn’t like the angel couldn’t do good deeds there as part of the war effort.

And Aziraphale himself was not handling things as well as his friend thought. But that was something he thought he could address with Crowley if needs be once their work here was completed. The horrors he experienced were well worth it in the long run when he could throw even the smallest of spanners into the Nazi’s works.


	4. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale deals with resulting trauma of his imprisonment while Crowley is so miserable he spends as much time as he can drunk. Both want to be there for the other but neither has any idea how to go about doing that. Psychological trials of this nature are not something angels or demons are supposed to experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just noticed I'm posting this chapter on the 78th Anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor.
> 
> My other offering this weekend is the final chapter in ["You're All I See"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21463690/chapters/51150316), which is also my final story in the Cold Open Fics series. Thanks to all of you that read those stories and supported me. I do appreciate it very much. :)

Crowley was back in Dagon’s office once again only this time he wasn’t hatching plans. He was pleading with the Underlord of Hell. 

“The things the humans are doing to each other. Even demons don’t have the imagination to think up and perform such horrors. There’s no point in me being there when I can be causing trouble somewhere else. The Nazis have things pretty well covered in the misery department.”

But his appeals fell on very deaf ears. Dagon would not hear of pulling him out and allowing him to return to England. He sat behind his desk, facial expression hard with arms crossed on his chest as he leaned back in his chair.

“You’re on thin ice, Crowley,” he said. “The stunt you pulled in that prison was entirely uncalled for. If you weren’t so highly favoured, you would have been immediately recalled for severe punishment. At least we got a few high-end souls out of it. As it stands we’ve decided that it’s punishment enough to require you to stay until the war’s over. Don’t make me regret not making it worse. Now get out of my sight.”

Defeated, Crowley returned to Earth. Once back in his house, he drank his way through several bottles of whisky he conjured up. It would be one of the last times he stayed the night there. He could no longer handle being by himself in the dark.

~*~*~

Aziraphale was sitting on his couch, his hand shaking violently as he tried to control the sudden, inexplicable fear he was feeling right now. He needed to go out to get food and other supplies for the guests in his backroom who would be staying there for three days until the smugglers in his resistance group could collect them. But all he could think about as he stared at the front door leading out of his flat was the trauma he experienced at the hands of the Nazis. They were right outside that door, walking around in public looking for anyone who wasn’t fully supporting Germany’s official stance. One wrong move and he could end up back in that situation enduring the torture all over again.

It was a strange situation because he was an angel – a supernatural being with a lot more resilience than the average human. He shouldn’t be experiencing psychological reactions like they did. Maybe he had been down here too long. Well, it was time to buck up. He was not human, he was a Principality. Trauma should be easier to get over. 

Pushing the negative thoughts down, he took control of the panic, stood up and opened the front door. The shopping had to get done.

Ration book in hand, he headed to the market, on alert the entire way. Everywhere he looked he swore he saw danger. Someone was going to point the finger at him; accuse him of hiding a Jewish family in his backroom. The Gestapo would come again and this time he wouldn’t escape. They’d move him secretly like before and the torture would be worse making escape impossible. Crowley wouldn’t be able find him, either. He’d end up discorporated explaining to Gabriel how he majorly messed up because he couldn’t act like an angel. 

What would Crowley do? The demon needed him. The family needed him. He had to ignore the faces around him accusing him of not supporting the Nazi party line. Keeping his head down, he walked along the pavement, trying to concentrate on the task at hand.

He stood outside the market his breath coming in short bursts. _Calm down. You need to get the shopping done. It’s just getting some food, nothing more. Nobody will come after you for using a ration book to get groceries._

He stood there outside the market pretending to be fumbling with his ration book as cover. Finally, breathing under control, he entered. Managing to get what he needed, he paid; then walked home without breaking down even though his heart was pounding in his chest. That finally happened in the kitchen where he burst into tears while putting the groceries in the cabinets. 

He fled to the bedroom where he pulled the shades before wrapping himself in the thick quilts in the darkness trying to control the dread welling up inside of him. That is where Crowley found him there when he returned to the flat several hours later. 

“Angel?” the demon called softly upon opening the bedroom door. “What’s wrong?” 

When he didn’t get a response, he simply climbed into the bed, fluffed up a pillow to prop himself against and sat beside Aziraphale.

“Hey, angel, I’m here.”

But Aziraphale didn’t do anything more than acknowledge his presence. They sat in silence until Aziraphale’s depressive mood had passed.

~*~*~

“When are they coming for the refugees?” asked Crowley. 

He was laying on his back on the sitting room couch an empty bottle beside him. Aziraphale grabbed it and the glass the demon was holding out of his hand to take to the kitchen. 

“In two days,” the angel replied coldly.

“Whoa, the temperature dropped in here,” Crowley said sardonically. “All I did was ask a question.”

“You drink too much and I don’t like it.” Aziraphale came back in with a glass of water. “Drink this instead. God knows what you’re doing to your body. We may be more resilient than humans, but the corporations we’re in are not indestructible. I would hate to see the state of your liver right now.”

“God probably doesn’t care what I’m doing to my body and it’s not like I really require a liver,” muttered Crowley, but he sat up and took the proffered water.

“You need to talk about this, Crowley,” said Aziraphale as he sat down beside him on the couch. “Not keep all your emotions in while trying to drown them in a bottle.”

“You should talk, angel,” snapped Crowley. “I’ve seen the panic attacks you try so hard to hide. I’ve seen you freeze up in public like an actor with stage fright when anyone in a Nazi uniform comes anywhere near you. Ever wonder why I don’t wear mine around you anymore, other than I hate the thing with a passion?”

They sat there next to each other in some kind of silent stand-off, neither one of them wanting to break the quiet lest they break the fragile truce that eventually grew up between them. Crowley desired to just go off somewhere peaceful and alone, never to return. Aziraphale had never wanted so badly to get transferred back to Heaven to be put on some boring desk job that meant he’d never have to work with humans again. The urge to give the other some kind of supportive pat on the shoulder was strong in both of them, but both were too scared to make the first move.

Therefore, they sat there in the uneasy silence for a while until Crowley’s hangover, which he refused to cure, forced him to seek out the bedroom. He never returned home at night anymore. Aziraphale suspected there were horrors he’d seen on this mission waiting there in the corners of his mind, eager to come alive the minute he walked into the lonely darkness of his place.

He prepared himself for the nightmares that would come late in the night when Crowley’s mind had let down its guard. The angel would insert himself mentally into the demon’s head to calm him but that was hit or miss these days. Sometimes it calmed Crowley, but a lot of the time it didn’t. 

Aziraphale was glad he didn’t sleep. He had trouble facing his own fears at night when there was nothing to do but watch and wait. Facing them while in a completely unguarded state like slumber would have been his undoing.

“Ok, then let’s talk. I know about the horrors you’ve seen,” said Aziraphale, finally breaking the silence. “I know what you go through every time you put on that uniform. It’s destroying you slowly and all I can do is sit here watching."

“I can’t. You have your own issues to work through, angel. I’m not going to put my problems on you, too.”

Instead, they sat in silence again, neither one of them able to speak up about the trauma they were dealing with in their own minds. 

~*~*~

Crowley had come in carrying a bag full of rationed items for which Aziraphale thanked him profusely. The angel was having a hard time lately leaving either his flat or his store, which was rarely open thanks to the war cutting into supplies. The panic attacks were becoming more frequent, but he hid the fact he couldn’t leave without experiencing one under the excuse that he had to keep an eye on the families he rotated through his backroom now that patrols had gotten tighter.

He was worried that one day they’d end up having to outright hide a family until the end of the war. While they could pull that off easily, the emotional toll it would take on Aziraphale might push him over the edge.

But you did what needed to be done. 

“Here you go, angel. I drove out to the countryside to do some bartering. Don’t you ever again complain about how I wish up clothing since that gave me something to trade with. It would be nice if you let me wish up food for when you have guests.”

“No, Crowley. We need to be contributing to the economy, such as it is. Many are left wanting.” Aziraphale looked in the bags, hoping to find more of a variety than he did. He found mostly potatoes with a few carrots and a couple of slightly bruised tomatoes. There was a whole chicken, too, wrapped up in butcher paper along with a handful of eggs.

“You make no sense, angel. If I’m going to wish up clothing, soap and leather for trade, I might as well be wishing up food.” A bottle appeared in his hand that Aziraphale frowned at. 

“Like you wish scotch into existence?”

“Don’t start unless you also want to discuss how the Nazis have made you agoraphobic.”

The angel fell silent. He put the vegetables in a cabinet. The meager chicken and four eggs went in the refrigerator, which stayed perfectly cold without needed to add blocks of ice to it like everyone else had to.

“I should check on them,” he said stiffly, heading for the stairs.

Crowley sat down with his scotch after moodily pantomiming his irritation at the angel behind his back. Quietly he got himself moderately drunk before it just didn’t feel right. He stared at the bottle, contemplating refilling it before he rolled his eyes, blessed under his breath and set the bottle back down, still empty.

Aziraphale had not come back yet. Crowley wondered what he was up to. Silently he slipped down to the backroom-turned-tiny-living-space, opened the locked door with a thought and peered in.

Aziraphale sat at a small table with the adults playing a game of cards. He looked as though he was having a good time – smiling, laughing, and planning his next move with the help of the woman sitting next to him. He must have been learning a new German card game. Whatever was going on, the angel was in good spirits, so Crowley did not interrupt.

Quietly he closed the door, relocking it from the inside with a snap of his fingers and headed back upstairs to continue his drinking. Maybe he could drink enough tonight to keep the nightmares at bay.

Later that evening, Aziraphale returned upstairs to find the demon at the kitchen table, head nestled in his arms, sunglasses placed next to the empty bottle. He felt a bit guilty leaving Crowley by himself, but he did have some fun, which was much needed given his current state of mind. It was getting harder for Crowley and him to support each other when both were struggling with issues so badly. 

The only problem was that Crowley had nobody but him since the demon tended to keep humans at arm’s length at all times while Aziraphale was occasionally willing to mingle closely with them. Doing so tonight really did improve his spirits even if he didn’t confide anything in any of them.

Carefully he woke Crowley up, helping him to the bedroom where he coaxed him into getting out of his jacket, tie and shoes before climbing into the bed. That night, he sat in the chair in the corner of the room, reading under a small lamp until the morning when Crowley began to stir. Raising his head from his book as he noticed the demon starting to wake up, he turned off the lamp and quietly slipped out.

He was fixing some breakfast even though they rarely ate anymore because of the rationing, making do with some bread for toast and fried eggs when Crowley stumbled into the kitchen making a gesture to rid himself of his headache. He raised an eyebrow. 

“Want some, my dear?”

“Sure,” Crowley mumbled. “Been weeks since I’ve eaten anything. I kind of miss it. Do you have butter for the toast?”

“No, but the eggs are sunny side up. You can dip the toast in the yolks.”

“Better than nothing, I guess.”

Aziraphale was surprised he didn’t just wish up some butter. Maybe Crowley did not out of respect for him.

“Take some leave, Crowley. Please? For your own sanity?”

“We’re in the middle of a war. I can’t.”

“You’re a demon. You could arrange it so you could disappear for a few weeks and they’d never notice.”

“You’re right. I’m a demon. This shouldn’t be affecting me. I don’t have some weak little human brain. I’m more resistant than that.”

Aziraphale set a plate down in front of him then sat at the table with a plate of his own. It was a meager breakfast, but it wasn’t like they needed the nutrition. They needed the comfort those human rituals they enjoyed so much held for them.

“We’ve been here on Earth since the beginning. We understand it and humanity better than any other angel or demon. Of course it’s going to get the point where we’re going to be affected by extremes one way or another. We’ll get through this. We always do.”

They sat eating in silence deriving what good they could from something that had become as routine and normal as having a meal. Crowley conjured up some coffee for both of them; Aziraphale didn’t protest it. Something about the warmth of it made things just a little bit better. 

“Thank you for that. I’m sorry I have to eat and head out, but I still have to do this wretched job. Dagon is not happy I burnt down a prison full of Nazis.”

Aziraphale watched him trudge lifelessly out the door, his heart aching for Crowley. He seemed to be seeing the demon through new eyes and realizing he had a heart, empathy and a whole range of emotions one normally didn’t find in a denizen of Hell. Something deep inside of him wanted to give Crowley a hug while telling him everything would be all right once this war was over. But he was certain Crowley wouldn’t appreciate physical contact.

He didn’t realize how wrong he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Refrigerator” refers to what we now call an “icebox.” Terminology changed when modern fridges started being mass produced after the war. Not many had a modern one before then.


	5. A World Gone Mad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Crowley gestured grandly. “Well, what just happened to me was literally the straw that broke the camel’s back. I’ve been working for Nazi shitheads. You’ve been shot, captured and tortured. We’ve had to save what people we could from the wonderful examples of cruelty human imagination can dredge up. And tonight some people killed me, so to speak, then decided to loot and blow up my house because they’re close enough to_ starving _they’re willing to risk severe punishment for items to trade on the black market for food. Enough is enough.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My other offering this weekend is a deleted chapter from [You're All I See ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21463690/chapters/51150316). Go read it, give it kudos and tell me how much you love it. I'm a vain little car. 🤣 (Yes, my sense of humour is weird. Please don't think I have some kind of big head.)

_A few years later._

Nobody was getting out of Germany anymore. Even Aziraphale’s brave quiet little resistance group has given up on that, concentrating on getting Jewish families into safe houses where they could hopefully wait out the war without being discovered and shipped off to concentration camps. Aziraphale had agreed to provide some space for a family or two in need.

He gave up on the store since supply lines were seriously interrupted and it could be put to better use hiding those in need. Right now it sat with the shades all drawn and a closed signed permanently visible on the front door. Nobody thought anything about it. Many businesses failed during these hard times.

Inside, the store space itself was shrunk and walls put up to create an even bigger area that could be a serviceable, if cramped, living space for six to eight people. Aziraphale had expanded the space inside somewhat beyond what could actually fit in the walls themselves, but not to the extent any human would actually notice, thanks to the space being broken up the way it was. To them it looked like an expanded and well-hidden backroom that contained a common area with a kitchenette, three good enough sized bedrooms to fit two or three beds each and a bathroom. 

They would have no idea that the secret backroom would never be found unless Aziraphale wanted it found. Everything was covered in a glamour to make it look like an empty store.

It wasn’t long before he was settling a family of five in his proffered space. Crowley had conjured up food for them, flatly refusing to go through the nonsense of bartering when he could cut out the middleman. But he had agreed to wish up items that looked to be home canned and rougher breads so that Aziraphale could explain that he had family with a farm and enough supplies to share some.

“You shall not want for anything when it comes to supplies,” Aziraphale promised them. “I’m sorry it’s such a small space, though.”

“Thank you so much for your kindness, Ezra,” said the tired but grateful looking wife. Her husband was nearly in tears, too choked up to say anything. He just gave an appreciative nod.

“I’ll be right upstairs if you need anything at all,” he said and took his leave of the family for now. Crowley would be coming in soon and he wanted to try to keep him from the bottle.

Crowley didn’t come. Aziraphale worried.

~*~*~

Crowley had gone to his house after his work was done, knowing Aziraphale was settling a family in. He wanted to give him some time to do that without banging around upstairs, scaring an already nervous bunch of people. 

He changed out of his uniform, turned on the radio and sat in his sitting room for the first time in he didn’t know how long. Flicking through stations, Crowley wished he could find something decent to listen to other than propaganda or Nazified music played by government-approved orchestras. Hitler loved Richard Wagner’s works, which were prominently featured in broadcasts. As far as Crowley was concerned, he was glad Wagner was dead and not composing anymore. If he had been alive, Crowley would have cheerfully struck him with an unending case of composer’s block then burned every copy of every score he had written while throwing it all off a cliff into the ocean for good measure.

He would kill for some of the more depressing classical stuff right now. Those would at least fit his mood. He would have conjured himself up a record player and records of his liking, but it wasn’t worth the effort since he was never home anymore.

Angry, he headed outside for a walk, stomping down the dark street, hands in pockets, not paying any attention to his surroundings. He was a demon so if he wanted people to stay away, they would stay away.

He didn’t even see the headlights of the car careening towards him from behind at high speed. Whoever was operating it not only knocked him several feet in the air, but kept on driving, running him over completely. Crowley’s scream was cut short as at least one tyre rolling over his back crushed a good portion of his cervical vertebrae. He felt three-fourths of his body go numb and his breathing cease. His head swam making it impossible for him to focus his powers.

Car doors slammed as two men got out to examine the damage. Crowley could smell the alcohol on their breath. He screwed his eyes shut, pretending to be dead. Getting out of a morgue would be easier than getting out of a hospital where it was more likely someone would quickly alert his Nazi superiors of his presence than in the morgue where they were overwhelmed with the wartime deaths from disease, bombings and starvation. In these paranoid days, he carried identification in his pockets at all times. Besides, he did not need human medical personnel screwing up his ability to heal himself with all their primitive procedures.

“Shit. It’s that Nazi officer from down the street. Now what?”

“Grab the body. We can’t leave it here to be found. Let’s head to his house. He might have goods we can use. Not like he needs them anymore.”

They lifted Crowley up and threw him unceremoniously in the trunk. In even more pain from the rough treatment, he felt the car drive off for a short distance then stop. The men argued a bit about what to do with him until one said to bring him in the house because he had an idea. Crowley found himself dumped on the sitting room floor.

Soon they were ransacking the place, looking for anything that was worth taking. 

“But you killed him!” One kept repeating over and over in a shocked voice.

“Yeah, well. It’s done and you’re involved now so, you better stay quiet about it. Do you know what trouble we could get in for this? But our families can’t live on bread alone. That’s all my wife can get. Bread and potatoes. Occasionally we’re able to buy a few grams of meat. The little that’s available goes to the officers and soldiers first. Might as well take what he’s got. He’s not going to need it.”

Cabinet doors slammed open, banging on one another followed by groans of dismay.

“There’s no food in here!”

“He’s got several bottles of scotch and brandy. I’m taking them. Check his closets. That bastard has quite a few nice suits.”

Crowley heard them head off to his bedroom. His closet door opened and there was the sound of hangers scraping across the rod they were hanging on. Other noises told him they were going through the chest of drawers. 

“Got a few suits and some nice pairs of shoes,” said one man. “The bastard was a classy dresser. Take the ties, too. And the shirts. They’re bound to fit someone.”

“Yeah? Who? He was a skinny fucker.”

“It’s all good on the black market. Let’s get out of here. Get rid of the evidence or we’ll end up in one of those camps.” 

“Ok, I got some leather belts here, too. People are hard up for leather. Someone’ll want them.”

They returned to the kitchen. Suddenly Crowley heard a hissing and he knew they had rigged the gas cooker to explode. Feet stomped by him in a hurry, running to get out of the house before everything blew.

Concentrating all his thoughts on Aziraphale’s flat, he managed to transport out as the place exploded and raging heat reached the spot where he lay. A moment later he heard Aziraphale’s voice and he had never been more relieved to hear it in his entire existence.

“Oh my lord! Crowley!” the angel exclaimed when he saw Crowley’s body lying there on the sitting room floor.

Paralyzed, the demon couldn’t force air through his lungs to speak. He had to resort to mental communication. Tentatively he sent a link to Aziraphale that would allow the surface connection between their minds. He’d be able to talk through that. Aziraphale completed the link, accepting his request to speak through telepathic means. Crowley relayed the entire story finishing with:

_ I can’t move much. Working on healing it._

“You’re covered in burns. Here, let me take care of those.” Aziraphale was kneeling beside him on his right, fingers brushing against his skin, taking away the pain he actually felt above the breaks and returning his skin to a healthy, unburned state. “I think you got out of there just in time from the looks of these.”

Crowley could tell he was trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

_They were so desperate for food and things to sell on the black market they were willing to ransack my house and destroy any evidence that they hit me and looted my place. Punishment for that can’t be light. _

Now that his skin wasn’t an oozing burned crust, Aziraphale had both palms flat on his back, adding his healing powers to Crowley’s, working to put his spine back together. Crowley closed his eyes in sheer bliss at the touch, regretting he couldn’t tell the angel how much he appreciated just feeling his hands on him, healing and wounds be damned.

“You could get out of the mission now that you’re dead,” Aziraphale said hopefully as he worked on Crowley.

Crowley found he could move his arms and breathe. Progress. “They’ll send me back with a new identity. Remember, it’s a punishment now, not a mission.” 

Aziraphale slid his hands up and down Crowley’s head and back, checking for other wounds. “Hold still . . . You have quite the concussion. Is your place gone?”

Finally Crowley could sit up. He breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. For everything. You know I was thinking of disappearing for a bit and just reporting in once in a while, but no. I’m ending this.”

He climbed to his feet, snapped his fingers and was gone. Aziraphale stared where he was in confusion then headed to his record collection to find some soothing music to put on before sitting down with a book to wait. Whatever Crowley was up to, he’d be back as soon as he finished it.

He returned about fifteen minutes later carrying a bundle of dossiers, some stamped with red ink. Aziraphale assumed he transported himself off somewhere full of top secret documents and liberated a few. The bundle disappeared.

“What did you do?” the angel asked as casually as possible, turning a page of his book for emphasis on “casual.”

“Why do you wear reading glasses? You don’t even need them,” Crowley asked before getting on the subject. “I just handed the Allies some very valuable information. It’s on the desk of a very important person who won’t question where it came from. I told you I was going to end this. I’ve had enough of this war and what it’s doing to humanity.”

He grinned ferally at Aziraphale who wasn’t sure how to react, especially since they were not supposed to directly interfere with humanity’s actions on a level like that. “Crowley, you’re starting to play rather dangerous games now.”

Crowley gestured grandly. “Well, what just happened to me was literally the straw that broke the camel’s back. I’ve been working for Nazi shitheads. You’ve been shot, captured and tortured. We’ve had to save what people we could from the wonderful examples of cruelty human imagination can dredge up. And tonight some people killed me, so to speak, then decided to loot and blow up my house because they’re close enough to _starving_ they’re willing to risk severe punishment for items to trade on the black market for food. Enough is enough.”

A bottle appeared in his hand and he stalked off to the kitchen to begin his nightly drinking. Aziraphale didn’t attempt to stop him this time. Crowley had been through enough today.

~*~*~

Aziraphale quickly slammed the door behind him, letting out a sigh. He had been out shopping for groceries since Crowley wasn’t here to conjure anything up and he’d get a strongly worded note from Gabriel for constant miracles if he did it himself. Settling down in his chair, he let the bags slide to the floor and took time to get the panicked feelings to stop.

He still couldn’t go out in public without breaking into a cold sweat and shaking violently every time he saw a Nazi. This was the first time he’d been out in over a month, which was ridiculous. He shouldn’t be reacting in such a human manner anymore. What happened had been a couple of years ago. He should be over it, being an angel. Trauma wasn’t something he hung on to or he would have been a complete basket case thousands of years before now given what he had seen and lived through.

Why was this different? Maybe it was the level of cruelty, the length of time he’d spent immersed in the enemy’s culture witnessing the things they did to those they hated and the fact he’d never been personally involved on such a level. He’d never endured torture before.

Wine. Right now he could so use a glass of wine, but no. He was witnessing what alcohol was doing to Crowley; he could not afford to take that path. It was better just to stay away from the stuff for now until he was sure he could control himself.

It was around six o’clock in the evening. Crowley had taken to showing up around five o’clock to five-fifteen like clockwork. Aziraphale wondered what was keeping him. 

He’d give him a bit more time before worrying. He grabbed up the bags again before heading downstairs to the family hidden away from Nazi persecution.

The lock slid open after he knocked on the door and he stepped in with the supplies. There seated on the couch with the two younger children was Crowley. He was reading to them, the little boy and girl paying rapt attention to the story he was telling.

Aziraphale could not help but smile. Their father chuckled softly at the angel’s reaction as he took the bag of supplies from him.

“Your partner there brought us some canned goods and the children begged him to read to them.”

Partner? Partner, like in a relationship, or something else? Aziraphale didn’t correct the man. There was no way a human could understand the bond that had formed between him and Crowley after spending nearly six thousand years in each other’s presence, more or less. Whatever he meant by partner, it did not matter. 

“How are you all doing? Do the children need more crayons and paper? I could get you a record player or a radio. This place is soundproofed and I know it must get dreadfully boring at times.”

“Are you sure nobody will hear a thing?”

“I soundproofed the place myself, my dear fellow. Many a family have stayed here for a while awaiting transportation out of the country. Not a single one was ever found out.”

“Ok,” the man sounded uncertain, but seemed willing to risk it. “We can probably keep the sound down low enough, too.”

It was times like this he wished he could tell the humans he helped that they were being helped by an angel. That no harm would ever come to them on his watch because he literally had the power to make sure that didn’t happen. Instead, he bit his tongue, turning back to the scene on the couch – two children, one on either side of the demon, sitting up next to him while listening to ever word he read. Who knew Crowley was good with kids?

There was a spark of goodness still inside him, no matter what he thought. Aziraphale committed the tender scene to memory. He needed to take as many good ones as he could out of Germany when he finally left it. 

With the promise of a radio, he crept out, allowing Crowley to read on in peace. He was pretty sure the demon hadn’t even realized he had come in.

~*~*~

Aziraphale kept his knowledge about Crowley spending time with the hidden family to himself. Instead when the demon finally made an appearance, he merely said, “I caught a radio broadcast from England. The Allies keep winning a number of important battles.”

“Yes. Rommel’s convinced they’ll never be able to storm the coast of France, but I believe otherwise.” Crowley was getting out pots and pans, placing them on the cooker as he spoke. “I know they will. I went over to their headquarters. They’ve deceived the Germans into thinking the troops are at Calais and are planning dummy parachute drops now that they know where the German troops and gun installations are located. It’ll draw troops away from where they want to land. The whole deception operation the Allies have going on is beautiful. Now that they’re planning dummy drops tells me this is going down soon.”

“How much of that was your doing?” Aziraphale had followed him into the kitchen, sitting down at the table.

“Maybe some of it,” said Crowley as he put conjured-up chicken in a pan to cook, then dumped magically peeled potatoes in a pot to boil.

Neither of them could cook anything beyond basic fare and those skills were really only based in the necessity of “keeping up appearances” when required since they preferred to eat at restaurants. When one didn’t technically need food for survival, one could afford to be more discerning when it came to meals.

“You so rarely cook.” Aziraphale changed subjects knowing Crowley wasn’t going to give him more information than that. 

He knew Aziraphale disapproved of him feeding information to the Allies since he felt that crossed the line. Crowley would argue that saving Jewish families was direct interference as was Hell expecting him to represent their interests within the Nazi regime.

“Just felt like it. You can have some if you don’t complain about me conjuring up food.”

Crowley was craving normalcy in a world where the horrors of war had been going on for way too many years. He was much happier when Hell ignored his existence instead of thrusting him into the middle of the humans’ bloody quarrels with each other.

Aziraphale understood completely because he was craving the same normalcy – the whole routine he had built up around his bookshop, and if he’d admit it, around Crowley. Having the demon stay here permanently instead of running in and out was some comfort.

It was just a plate of chicken and potatoes, manually made, but magically seasoned, that Crowley put in front of him after everything finished cooking, but it was enough. Aziraphale smiled his thanks and didn’t say a word about how Crowley acquired the food, instead picking up his fork and digging in. 

Eating was about the only normal thing they could do in this war-torn country and even that was touched by rationing if they chose to play by the rules. Aziraphale felt morally obligated to do so, therefore; he did appreciate that Crowley kept things simple, even if the demon had come by dinner by means of his powers.

“I miss our lunches together,” he said as Crowley poured himself a reasonable amount of brandy. 

“Yes. I do, too,” Crowley replied. “I just miss London. My flat. The Bentley. The nightlife.” He became quiet for a moment before saying softly. “I miss just sitting around the bookshop chatting with you.”

Aziraphale laughed for the first time in a long while. “Sometimes I think we could solve the world’s problems if we could stay on the subject.”

“But we never do,” Crowley finished.

They smiled at each other and for a moment there was no war. It was just the angel and the demon enjoying each other’s company like during the good times. Aziraphale sighed serenely. They floated on that contentment through dinner until the simple act of clearing the table shattered the fragile happiness.

Crowley started to gesture to wish the dishes clean, but Aziraphale stopped him.

“No. Please, I want to do the washing up by hand. I need something to do,” he said. “Something other than sit around reading newspapers trying to pick the truth out of propaganda. Nothing is normal around here. I miss normal.”

“Ok. If that’s what you want, angel.” Crowley cleared the table, piling the dishes by the sink. “Do you want some help?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, I’d like that.”

Crowley picked up a towel to dry the dishes Aziraphale scrubbed clean. Silently but companionably, they did the washing up until there was a pounding on the door. Aziraphale went pale. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Richard Wagner (1813-1883) was a German composer who wrote mostly operas and was also antisemitic. Hitler loved his works, thinking they embodied his vision for the German people, therefore; they were appropriated by the him, used during many Nazi events and were widely broadcast over the radio. Many of Hitler's lieutenants didn't appreciate them as much as Hitler did. I get a little bit of satisfaction knowing those bastards had to sit through operas they hated even though that pales in comparison to what the cruelties they were inflicting upon Jews, homosexuals, Romani and the disabled.


	6. Still Behind Enemy Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[Crowley] had made it his second job to protect Aziraphale and this time it meant protecting Aziraphale from himself._
> 
> Things reach a boiling point when Nazis check the neighborhood for Jews with forged papers.

“Open up! We have word there are Jews living illegally in this neighborhood!”

“How did they find out?” whispered a panicked Aziraphale.

“They didn’t,” Crowley whispered back. “They think someone around here has forged their papers so they look German, not Jewish. Go answer the door. I need to shape shift because I don’t want to be recognized or mistaken for your gay lover. If that happens, we’re going to have to deal with a lot more trouble.”

He disappeared with the promise he’d be back in just a moment. Aziraphale swallowed the panic that was increasing when he realized he had to do at least part of this alone. Putting a smile on his face, he headed to the door.

“Can I help you?”

The four Nazi grunts at the door entered without so much as a by-your-leave, pushing the angel aside. He tried to keep the trembling at bay. With deliberation, he forced himself to take slow, deep breaths before he started hyperventilating right here at precisely the wrong time. Human bodies could be so unpredictable.

“We’re looking for individuals with forged identity papers. We’ll need to see yours,” said one of the soldiers, who appeared to be the leader.

“Oh, yes,” replied Aziraphale. “I store them in the bedroom. Just a moment.”

He exited the room to conjure up everything that would prove he, under the current law, had a right to be here. One German pedigree would be at his fingertips once he was safely out of the sight of those goons. The papers he conjured shook in his hand. Taking a moment to calm himself again before he simply crumbled into a messy pile of uncontrollable emotions, he held his head up before walking back down the hallway to the sitting room, but stopped short.

Crowley was standing there chatting them up, looking exactly like Aziraphale in dark clothing, holding a couple of jars of fruit in his hands. Well, they couldn’t be taken for gay lovers if they were twins, Aziraphale supposed, and Crowley playing his brother was less awkward than Crowley playing his wife. Neither one of them really knew how married couples behaved with one another. Gender was hard enough to try to figure out by itself, let alone how two humans of different genders were supposed to act with each other when in love.

“I apologize for the sunglasses, but I scratched my cornea and the doctor said my eye might be sensitive to light for a few days,” he slid them down for a moment to show off sky blue eyes, making direct eye contact with the soldier he was speaking with. Crowley could hold a glamour on his eyes for an extremely short amount of time, maybe a minute or two, before the divine curse that gave him permanent snake eyes burned it away. Best to show he wasn’t blind given the prejudices against the disabled.

“Oh, there’s my twin brother now.”

Aziraphale doubled the papers in his hand, walking over to Crowley to give him half of them. He’d have to wish up the “correct” information on them. 

They were asked about downstairs, making Aziraphale’s heart jump into his throat. Everything was secure, he knew. Humans would never find their way around his miracles, but still . . .

“Downstairs?” Crowley was saying, quick on the pick up. “Oh that used to be our store until the Allied blockade seriously cut into our supplies. We’re hoping once we win we’ll be able to reopen it.”

“We need to personally check it out,” said the lead soldier.

“That’s fine,” said Aziraphale, trying to keep fear out of his voice. “I’ll be happy to show you around. We just use it for storage anymore.”

“Yes,” interjected Crowley. “We have a few jars of fruits and vegetables down there from our uncle’s farm and that’s about it.”

Aziraphale opened the door, allowing the soldiers to go down. One of them stayed upstairs with the two of them, telling them they needed to look alone without interference from civilians.

Aziraphale linked up mentally with Crowley. _Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you?_

_Sorry. I went in to see the family while I was down there. Told them to stay inside and not to worry about anything because they won’t be found. I had to bring _something _up from downstairs so I wouldn’t look suspicious._

The Nazis returned, filing into the sitting room one after another, Aziraphale eying their guns like a hunted animal. Crowley stepped closer to him, worried.

“You seem to be missing a lot of space down there,” the one who appeared to be the highest ranking said.

Aziraphale froze. Did he forget to put a glamour on it to make it appear bigger? Outwardly he attempted to look confused by the accusation. He looked towards Crowley, but Crowley’s expression was hard to read, even harder with the sunglasses.

“There is the store next door. I just bought this place off of an older gentleman before the war. I thought it was part of their space?”

Crowley inwardly cringed at how Aziraphale turned the last statement into a question, putting more suspicion on them.

“Look around,” the leader said to the rest of the soldiers. 

Two went back downstairs where they wouldn’t be able to get through the spells even if they suspected something. The remaining two dispersed throughout the flat, ransacking every room, making Aziraphale nervous. He followed after them, panicking about the few rare books he kept here before one of them turned him away, marching him back to the sitting room to stand next to Crowley with a guard. Crowley eyed him over the sunglasses begging him to just be quiet.

“I’ve a few valuable first editions! I’d rather they’re not harmed in any way!” the angel was saying.

_Please tell me you don’t have banned books around here. Vanish them now._

Aziraphale grew more and more agitated as the soldiers destroyed the flat room by room, taking apart everything they could. Crowley held him back with a hand on his shoulder and an almost imperceptible shake of the head. The angel looked back with the beginnings of tears in his sky blue eyes. He was too far gone to follow Crowley’s instructions, but Crowley had no idea what to vanish, if there was anything. He closed his eyes, hoping for the best.

They strode out of the spare bedroom where Aziraphale kept a bookshelf full of his favourite books to read, one carrying a single piece of incriminating evidence – _The Complete Works of Oscar Wilde_. It was tossed at Crowley and Aziraphale’s feet. 

“This is a book by a banned author. How did you come by it?” the leader demanded.

“I’ve had that going on twenty years now. I had no idea it was banned,” stammered out Aziraphale, which was probably the truth. It’s not like he spent time learning Nazi laws.

The sound of the bookshelves being pushed over caused Aziraphale to start breathing heavily in extreme agitation. Crowley tightened his grip on his friend, releasing him enough to rub his shoulder in a soothing motion. The action did nothing to tamp down Aziraphale’s rising panic.

_Stay calm, angel. Don’t make this worse._

“You could face the camps for this, you know.”

Aziraphale broke down, falling to his knees, hands over his head. “I can’t go back,” he whispered over and over while Crowley knelt beside him, unsure what to do. He patted his back awkwardly until one of their captors yanked Crowley roughly away, causing him to cry out.

“Hey!”

“Do you want anything to happen to your brother?” demanded the leader to Aziraphale, pointing a gun at Crowley. “Oh my God!”

The sunglasses had been knocked clean off Crowley’s face when they pulled him roughly over to them. Now four Nazi soldiers found themselves staring into yellow serpentine eyes. Crowley tried to look away and was hit on the temple with the butt of a rifle. He saw stars, his vision blackening a bit, his thoughts becoming indistinct. The demon fought against dizziness to keep from collapsing on to his hands and knees.

“What the hell? You look like the devil himself!” one of them yelled, training his gun at the demon’s head. 

Crowley raised his hands, slurring his words as he responded. “It’s just a medical condition. It’s not a big deal.”

“Some medical condition! Your eyes were blue two minutes ago!”

To them it was and there was going to be no arrest, no charges, no being shipped off to prison camps. They were going to take care of the problem right here, right now. The other two who didn’t have their guns pointing at Crowley’s head threw Aziraphale into position beside him. Crowley glanced towards the angel, who had at this point completely gone over the edge. He was no longer truly responding rationally, but reacting automatically. It was up to Crowley even though he was in quite a dissociated state from that blow to the head.

There was the metallic sound of guns being readied to fire. It was now or never. Crowley prepared to snap his fingers to take care of the problem before they both ended up discorporated when the energy in the room _changed_.

“NO!” screamed an uncontrollable Aziraphale, eyes wide with fear, entire body shaking with apprehension, his arms wildly swinging in exaggerated gestures that nearly knocked Crowley over and produced an extremely powerful surge of magic. 

Crowley had countered it the best he could, sensing the buildup and sending up a large amount of demonic power to cover Aziraphale’s. Hopefully the angelic power would get lost in Crowley’s, escaping Heaven’s notice. Gabriel would not be kind in his reprimand of the mentally fragile Principality.

Aziraphale fell over screaming incoherently for a moment, pounding the floor as if he was attempting to break through it, until he finally calmed down, letting out only whimpers. Crowley crouched protectively over him, ready to defend the both of them against any threat, severe concussion or not.

But they were alone in the room which was quiet except for Aziraphale’s sobbing. With a snap, Crowley changed himself back to his more familiar shape and cleaned up the flat. The couch was back to where it should be instead of overturned with its insides spread out after a thorough search. The demon carefully sat the angel on it. He had never seen his friend in such a state.

“Aziraphale? Please, I need you to calm down and listen to me,” Crowley said as he knelt in front of him, hands on his arms in hopes of focusing the angel’s attention on him. “I have to go tell everyone downstairs that everything’s ok up here. I’ll only take a minute, I promise. Here . . . take this . . . There you go . . . Hang on to it while I’m gone. I’ll be right back, angel.”

He had handed one of the couch’s throw pillows to Aziraphale to clutch. The angel’s sky blue eyes focused on it, carefully taking it into his arms to hug. Crowley nodded at him with an encouraging smile before making a quick trip downstairs to speak with the hidden family. 

After assuring the adults that Ezra was alright, just busy handling a mess left by their Nazi guests and that said guests had left without suspecting a thing, he headed outside to make sure they were never visited again.

Standing on the pavement, he looked up at the building then began some complicated spell work that would ensure that humans, while still aware the building was there, would feel compelled to continue walking on by rather than entering it. They could no longer risk visitors, not with Aziraphale’s extremely fragile state. After making sure the spell was done correctly, Crowley went back inside to comfort him.

“It’s ok, angel. It’s ok. We’re going to be fine,” he soothed while he tentatively stroked Aziraphale’s back as the angel clung to the pillow like it was his salvation.

Crowley sat there for an hour beside Aziraphale, trying everything he could think of to calm the angel but the tears kept coming, staining the pillow. The demon felt his inadequacy quite sharply. He wasn’t built to comfort; he was built to spread misery in this world. Trying to prevent someone from actually continuing to feel it ate up what little ability to comfort he possessed. Finally he gave up, just wanting some peace for Aziraphale instead of having to watch his friend spiral downwards the more he sobbed. The angel was too far into his own hurt-filled world to notice Crowley putting his fingers to the sides of his head and gently lulling his panicked mind into sleep. 

Positioning the prone body of the angel in a more comfortable position on the couch, he covered him with a blanket and headed to the kitchen for some wine and a glass. Returning to sit in one of the armchairs beside the couch, Crowley used a wish to turn the lights down low and kept vigil the entire night. The wine he fetched from the kitchen was just a beverage; he did not get drunk on his watch. 

Occasionally he knelt by Aziraphale’s side stroking his hair and murmuring calming words to him as he tossed and turned in the clutches of whatever nightmares were going through his head that night. Once or twice he placed tender kisses on the angel’s forehead as he settled back into a peaceful sleep. Aziraphale’s mouth curled into a smile when he did, causing Crowley’s heart to ache for what could not be.

Not right now, anyway.

Maybe some day. 

Aziraphale awoke the next morning confused. Sitting up he looked over at the demon who had kept vigil beside him through the long night. Crowley noticed him looking at him, smiling warmly at the angel before getting up to sit next to him.

“Are you ok? You were panicking so badly I lulled your brain into falling asleep to give you some peace. I’m sorry. That was kind of an invasion.”

The angel yawned. “It was probably for the best, my dear fellow. I don’t remember much other than I couldn’t calm down. You did what was right. Thank you.”

“What else do you remember?” asked Crowley.

“Nazis coming to the door to ask for our papers. Then I went into a frenzy but you made sure they went away and we weren’t found out.”

“Yes, we’re fine and they won’t be back.” Crowley was pretty sure of that. Where Aziraphale sent them, he had no clue, but he would keep his peace on that entire situation. He had made it his second job to protect Aziraphale and this time it meant protecting Aziraphale from himself. Finding out he vanished people to parts unknown was not something the angel’s overtaxed mind could handle right now.

Aziraphale smiled. “Well then . . .” he paused, not sure what more to say. 

Crowley patted his knee in camaraderie before getting off the couch. “How about some breakfast?”

“That sounds wonderful. You make the coffee and I’ll handle the rest.”

Crowley left for duty later in the morning after making sure Aziraphale was going to be okay, but he barely reported to work anymore, heading into the office about once every two weeks for a few hours to keep up on things so at least he could send reports to Hell showing he was serving out his punishment. The war machine moved forward, Jews, Romani, homosexuals and other undesireables were still rounded up if found. Crowley still brought home ever-dwindling lists of names Aziraphale passed on to those who could better handle the task at hand because that kept Aziraphale going. Crowley would not allow him to do more than that. He was far too fragile right now. 

Aziraphale thankfully didn’t ask too many questions about the encounter with the Nazis. He never left the building anymore, only leaving the flat itself to keep an eye on and socialize with the family in the backroom downstairs. He enjoyed playing cards with them, often encouraging Crowley to join them as well. The demon did some of the time, but other times he stayed in the kitchen falling back into the bottle because simply being here in Germany was enough to depress him.

Besides, he had the added burden of taking care of the angel and by extension the hidden family. He was their one supply line anymore with Aziraphale’s mental state still in tatters. He went into panic attacks if he so much as touched the doorknob. The last time he tried, Crowley spent an hour calming him down. 

Aziraphale had spent the day cleaning up the flat even though it didn’t need it. He needed the distraction since Crowley had some distasteful assignment to do that he couldn’t wriggle out of. Things always seemed a little better when Crowley was around and he had begun to realize how much he had come to depend on the demon’s support.

Aziraphale wished he could return the favour, but nothing he did could dissuade Crowley from seeking comfort in alcohol. He resorted to doing little things, like cooking breakfast every morning with the food Crowley now blatantly wished up for them and making sure there was always music on because Crowley could no longer handle the quiet; his thoughts would turn to the horrors he had seen. He made sure he was always there if Crowley needed to talk and still kept watch over him at night if he drank too much, sitting in the bedroom while Crowley slept.

The door burst open and slammed shut, Crowley standing there in the sitting room looking happier than he had in a long time. Aziraphale smiled back at him from his sorting of his record collection. 

“What brought on your good mood?” he asked as Crowley wished the Nazi uniform into civilian clothing.

“The Allies are landing at Normandy. If they can pull this off, the Nazis are done for.”

“You’re quite proud of yourself for feeding them information, aren’t you?”

“Yep.”

Aziraphale shook his head and went back to sorting the records. “Are you making dinner tonight or am I?”

“I can,” Crowley replied, striding off towards the kitchen.

Aziraphale closed his eyes for a moment after Crowley left to send a prayer up to the Almighty that this all ended soon for everyone’s sake. Maybe this one time God would grant his request. 

~*~*~

Aziraphale bounded downstairs to knock on the door, his smiling face surprising the man as he opened the door. The man blinked at him a moment, then opened the door further so Aziraphale could enter. 

“I’m sorry to intrude like this, but I’ve been listening to the radio. Turn yours on. I can get you the British stations. The Allies have stormed the beaches at Normandy and are making headway into the country itself. Let’s hope they’re able to take Berlin so this’ll all be over.”

The woman overheard them and flicked on the radio Aziraphale had given them earlier. With a bit if finagling, the angel was able to get one of the overseas stations for them. The adults all gathered around, listening with hope to the news report.

Causalities were high, but the Allies were persevering just like Aziraphale said. With a whoop of joy, the woman hugged her husband, Aziraphale finding himself caught up in the celebration as well. Kids peered out from bedrooms wondering what was going on.

“We might not have to hide much longer,” their father said. “The Allies are trying to save us.”

The children were not old enough to understand the intricacies of war, but they, too, rejoiced at the news they might get out of here soon. Jumping and laughing, they skipped around the common room in their excitement until they heard a second knock at the door.

“Jakob? Irina? Is Ezra with you?” came Crowley’s voice. The little girl yanked open the door, excited to see Crowley there. He frowned down at her. “Hey, what have you been told about opening the door?”

“To not to,” she replied as he entered. “Sorry, Anthony, but I knew it was you.”

He forgave her by slipping her a lolly conjured discreetly in his pocket. Her brother got another. Their older sister got a pack of chewing gum. 

“Angel,” he said as he looked up to see Aziraphale there, forgetting where he was, how he should address him and even what he was going to say in the first place.

Aziraphale blushed slightly as he noticed Jakob and Irina looking at them both. Irina just smiled at his embarrassment.

“It’s ok. My sister is like you two. She and her girlfriend emigrated to Canada before things started happening here. She saw the signs and begged us to come with her. I should have listened.”

“I’m sorry,” said Aziraphale. “But we’re going to get you through this so you can go find your sister again.”

Neither one of them commented on how their relationship was perceived. Sometimes they had trouble understanding it themselves, although Aziraphale suspected Crowley had his side of things way more figured out than he personally did.

Later that evening they returned upstairs after a few rousing card games with their guests. Aziraphale was getting good at that one they had taught them a while back. Its name escaped Crowley, but beating him at it had raised the angel’s spirits considerably. Crowley was happy to see Aziraphale’s sky blue eyes sparkling again and a laugh upon his lips. It had been way too long. 

“I’m glad to see you feeling better,” he commented as he prepared dinner with Aziraphale’s help. 

“I see the light at the end of the tunnel, I hope,” the angel replied while cutting up some carrots. “I selfishly just want to return to London.”

“Angel,” said Crowley as he seared the pork he conjured up. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with being selfish once in a while. I wish you’d remember that.”

The demon didn’t wish up any alcohol for the meal, which pleased Aziraphale. Maybe he’d seen the last of Crowley’s drinking. With any luck he’d soon be seeing the last of his panic attacks as well. He dreamed of being able to actually walk out the front door instead of feeling like a virtual prisoner in his own home. He felt deep empathy now for the family hiding downstairs who had no choice but to stay within their small hiding place. 

“Yes. I guess you’re right,” Aziraphale answered thoughtfully. “And maybe what I want really isn’t that selfish after all.”

Crowley smiled sadly at him in reply. What _he_ wanted probably was very selfish, but he kept his own wistful thoughts about the angel he loved to himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just because Crowley doesn't tell Aziraphale what exactly happened now doesn't mean he won't in the future. He does what he thinks is best for his friend under these circumstances. I don't address whether he ends up telling Aziraphale sometime later, so you can draw your own conclusions on that.


	7. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Crowley’s phone was ringing, awakening him from the first wonderful night’s sleep he had had in years._
> 
> _“What?” he snapped into the receiver after walking to his lounge to answer it._
> 
> _“Crowley? I hate to ask this of you, but can you come over?”_
> 
> _“I’ll be right there, angel,” he replied in a considerably softer tone, hanging up the phone . . . He rushed over the bookshop, worried because of the level of barely contained panic he heard in Aziraphale’s voice._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised a happy ending after putting these two through hell and this is it. Thank you for reading! I've appreciated all the comments and discussions as well.

_A few days before VE Day _

“I don’t think I can do this anymore, angel,” Crowley whispered as he once again drank himself senseless in the kitchen, still in uniform because he started getting drunk before wishing himself into some of his civilian clothes. “When are they going to take Berlin so we can go home?”

He had been heavily involved in whatever he was doing with the Nazis since D-Day, who had taken an “all hands on deck” approach to help save their sinking ship. How Crowley had managed to stay out of the field since so many were being sent there, Aziraphale didn’t know for sure, but suspected that it involved a bit of demonic persuasion.

“I think I’ll see what’s on,” said Aziraphale, walking to the living room to turn on the radio. “Maybe there’s some good news.”

Before he had much of a chance to hear the latest propaganda, which required clever listening to so one could separate the wheat from the chaff, there was a knock at the door. Crowley about jumped out of his skin his nerves were so shot. Aziraphale sent a soothing wave of mental healing his way before going to answer it. He was calm, knowing what spells Crowley had put on the place, although they had had to be modified so Heaven could get messages to him.

At the door he found a courier who handed him a simple envelope then bid him a good day. Closing the it behind him, he turned the envelope over in his hands, opening it as he returned to the kitchen. It appeared to be written on parchment. Heaven never did get the hang of changing technology any better than Hell did.

“New mission?” asked the drunken demon at the table.

“No, good news! I’m being recalled back to London because the Allies are finally marching towards Berlin. Oh, Crowley, this is all going to be over soon.” He handed the note over so Crowley could read it for himself. 

Crowley finished scanning that prat Gabriel’s handsome scrawl then fixed his gaze upon his left arm with its offensive symbolism wrapped right there around it. It made him feel sicker than the excess of brandy did. He pointed his finger at the offending red armband and it began to burn brightly. It didn’t matter he didn’t bother to remove it first. It wasn’t like his limb itself was in danger of catching fire. He’d lived in hotter places.

Various pieces of military trappings fell from the jacket, hitting the table with a metallic clang where they smoked and melted into puddles of nothingness. Crowley would now quietly disappear from the military, his name erased from the Nazi rolls. Hell wouldn’t expect its operative to stick around now that surrender looked inevitable, even it was a punishment. They would rather he walked away before something occurred that resulted in him needing a new body. He could finally head back to London with Aziraphale where they could recover from long, difficult work that had left them both with psychological wounds in need of healing.

“I know this had been hard, but we got through it. Wars, thankfully, don’t last forever.”

“No,” said Crowley in a hollow tone. “But they do last long enough.”

“Sober up and get out of that uniform,” said Aziraphale brusquely. “They’re liberating the camps, meaning our work is done. Let’s start packing up to head home. I’ll call my contacts to come get the family downstairs. I’ll tell them I have to head out to find out about my own family or something.”

He would miss the family he’d been housing for quite some time now having grown close to them, but his mind was already thinking of his books, packed away in that farmhouse and pondering if his bookshop survived the bombings intact. Or Crowley’s flat. He wondered if it would even be a good idea for the demon to be alone for a few days, given how much the war had chipped away at his psychological well-being. Personally, Aziraphale didn’t want to be alone for a while himself, even though he refused to admit he hadn’t recovered that much from his own mental wounds. He had never processed his capture and the abuse that followed, instead shoving to the back of his mind while his own fears grew out of control. Now he would be heading back to a normal routine that was a bit more leisurely and left him time to think. 

“We didn’t save that many,” slurred Crowley as he put the empty brandy bottle by the sink.

Aziraphale watched him wince as he sobered up. “Hundreds, I reckon. Listen Crowley, it took me a while, but I learned that even saving one is a good thing. We made a difference in lots of lives. That’s nothing to scoff at.”

He summoned his clothing and suitcase from the bedroom and started folding articles to put in it while Crowley leaned on the kitchen doorway watching him. Sometimes he felt he didn’t understand the demon because he acted so undemonic. It seemed like a mad thing to think, but he wondered if Crowley had Fallen for a reason. That he was strategically placed by the ineffable Plan where the goodness in him have the greatest effect. It made him wonder about his own position as well; if he, too, had been positioned where he could do the most good. But there was no second-guessing the Almighty, was there?

~*~*~

“Thank you so much, Hans,” said Aziraphale as he stood in the backroom with him and the family. “I need to head back to England now that I’m not required here. Family you know. Parents don’t get any younger. I don’t need this shop anymore, either. If anyone is interested in running it or living in the flat, they’re welcome to.”

Aziraphale tried to keep his smile genuine in light of those few slightly misleading sentences. It wasn’t a lie _per se_ . . . People’s parents did age . . . He never said anything about _his _parents in particular and he couldn’t be responsible for how Hans interpreted such a broad phrase. Oh, who was he kidding? He lied. 

Beside him, Crowley snickered softly, knowing how the angel felt about lying. He had come down to bid the kids farewell, giving them each a bag full of conjured candy to last them a while.

“We’ll miss you, Anthony,” they had said, giving him hugs in turn. He tolerated them touching him with an indulgent smile.

“Thank you for everything. I don’t think we’d be alive if it weren’t for your help,” Jakob said to Aziraphale, shaking his hand and Crowley’s in turn. 

Irina wiped her eyes, giving them both hugs. “Good luck, you two. We’ll miss you.”

Hans said he’d get the word out about the shop and thanked Aziraphale for all his help. Then he was off, helping Jakob and Irina get their luggage into his car. They no longer had a need to hide since the Allies had made their presence known in the area and the defeated German troops had either been captured or had fled. 

Aziraphale would have offered up his flat if they had had the financial means to stay there, but it was going to be some time before they were back on their feet again. Instead, he watched with tears in his eyes them getting into Hans’ car and driving off to their new life. He wished them luck, sending a blessing their way as well.

His companion had been overcome with emotion and headed back upstairs after saying his goodbyes. Crowley did not often become attached to humans because he had a hard time letting go when they had to go their separate ways. Sadly, as clever and fascinating as humans were, they were mayflies to him; the only constant in his life was the other immortal he shared this world with.

When Aziraphale returned, Crowley was sitting in one of the armchairs, reading a newspaper conjured up from England. Suitcases sat all around him, but not one of them was his. He didn’t bring anything to Germany nor would he take anything back to England with him. What he needed he could create from raw firmament because he didn’t possess Aziraphale’s moral obligation to buy what he required whenever possible.

“Ready?” he asked the angel.

“Yes. And thank you.”

“For what?”

“For everything you did, Crowley.”

They and all the luggage disappeared out of the flat.

~*~*~

The two were at the old farmhouse, Aziraphale having informed the older gentleman watching the place that his services were no longer needed. The man had shown up as Aziraphale requested so that he could be given his last payment. The angel was counting it out for him upon inspection of his book collection, which was still in perfect order. Crowley had immediately headed out to the barn.

“How’d you get here?” the man asked, peering around. “I don’t see a car.”

“Since my friend’s car is stored here, we just had another friend drop us off,” Aziraphale said breezily, feeling a bit guilty for the lie, but he couldn’t just tell a human they simply snapped their fingers and used a miracle to pop into this location.

Watching the man’s car disappear down the driveway then speed off to parts unknown, Aziraphale realized he’d never been happier to get back home after a mission. Turning towards the barn, he went to see how Crowley was doing. He found the demon had already vanished the tarps and magic keeping the Bentley safe, and was now caressing every inch of that car like one would caress a lover, while murmuring to it under his breath. The angel failed to understand the demon’s extreme affection for his vehicle, but he kept his mouth shut about it. 

It wasn’t like he didn’t worship inanimate objects himself, but books offered knowledge. He was not sure what sort of satisfaction one got out of a car.

“If you’re done talking to that beast, I’m going to just vanish my books back to London and be done with it. Hopefully Gabriel won’t notice.”

“Tell him you kind of need your merchandise back if you’re going to have a bookshop as your base of operations,” Crowley replied without looking up from his inspection of the Bentley. At least he had stopped cooing at it.

“You could vanish the car back, too, and we could save ourselves a drive.”

He received a glower in return for daring to make such a suggestion. “If you want to transport back, by all means, do so. Cars are meant to be driven so that’s just what I’m going to do. Now vanish your books and get in if you don’t follow them, angel.”

~*~*~

_London, post VE Day_

Crowley’s phone was ringing, awakening him from the first wonderful night’s sleep he had had in years. Late in the war, he had given up that particular pastime, thanks to the nightmares that plagued him every time he closed his eyes. Groaning, he got out of bed and threw on a dressing gown.

“What?” he snapped into the receiver after walking to his lounge to answer it. He knew who it was. Not many had telephones yet and only one had his number.

“Crowley? I hate to ask this of you, but can you come over?” 

“I’ll be right there, angel,” he replied in a considerably softer tone, hanging up the phone before he pulled on some handy trousers and shrugged into the nearest shirt he could grab. 

He rushed over the bookshop, worried because of the level of barely contained panic he heard in Aziraphale’s voice. Throwing the door open, he found the angel standing there waiting for him. Aziraphale flung his arms around Crowley, embracing him fiercely, shocking the demon. It was a rare occasion they touched more than a hand on an arm or in other such casual gestures. Crowley would have never dared those clandestine kisses back in Aziraphale’s German flat had he been conscious.

He carefully wrapped his arms around Aziraphale in return. “Are you ok?”

“I keep seeing it over and over, Crowley,” Aziraphale said shakily. “The gas chamber. The murdered humans. It won’t leave my head. Stay with me a while?”

“Angel . . .” Crowley just let him cling to him for a while before guiding him to his own backroom where they could at least sit. “Here. Let’s talk. You obviously need to. Remember what you said about even saving one is a good thing?”

“Yes.”

“Think about that, not about the ones you couldn’t save,” replied Crowley. “You were seriously injured. Your powers were depleted. The only choices you had were to either transport yourself out of there or die with them. You didn’t have the power reserves to get them out or heal them. Aziraphale, you can’t save them all.”

He smiled as gently as a demon could at Aziraphale, who was looking at him with such traumatized blue eyes it was extremely hard not to just take him into his arms, hold him and tell him that he’d make sure everything would be fine from now on, even if he had to move Heaven, Hell and Earth itself. But he couldn’t. Aziraphale was not ready for that so Crowley could only offer what support the angel was comfortable with.

They sat and talked instead, Crowley just listening as Aziraphale described the horrors he had experienced when he was the Nazi’s captive. It made him sick to hear exactly what his best friend had gone through in those few days before his escape.

“It’s going to take time, angel,” he finally said. “We both have seen a lot, been part of a lot and have a lot to work through. I’ve just gotten to the point I can sleep most of the time without nightmares.”

“I’ve never had trouble before.”

“Yeah, well . . . how often have you witnessed and partially been a part of such brutal conditions for so long?” Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale was rather protected, all things considered. He saw more of the good in humanity than the bad, having never experienced Hell or the stuff they forced you to do.

Crowley drew him up into conversation again, hoping to just keep his mind off of the negative for a while. This time he kept the subjects light, wanting to steer things away from the darkness they experienced would help improve Aziraphale’s mood.

Aziraphale didn’t know they talked until well past dawn until he suddenly realized that the sun had risen long ago. He wasn’t feeling perfect, but he noticed he was feeling better. A thankful smile was extended to his companion.

“I’m grateful for what you’ve done just now. I was quite the nuisance calling you at all hours of the night like that. How about I buy you breakfast?”

Crowley rose from the couch. “Sure, where shall we go?”

“Oh, that little café around the corner will do nicely if it’s still around. I know we’re going to be dealing with rationing for a while until supplies are back up to normal levels and I really don’t know the restaurant situation here right now. What if the restaurants are all closed or have to ration themselves? Oh dear, this isn’t going to work, is it?”

Crowley sighed at Aziraphale’s dithering. Waving his hand, he produced quite the feast on the table there in the backroom, including a pot of tea and all of Aziraphale’s favourite breakfast foods. The angel smiled upon seeing the spread.

“You’re too much, my dear boy. Do you know that?” He reached over to give Crowley’s hand a squeeze.

“Oh, just shut up and enjoy it.”

So Aziraphale did simply that, sitting across the table from his best friend whom he now realized was the one person in this crazy wonderful silly old world who would always be there for him. It was a strange thought to be having – the angel and the demon forging a friendship that not only beat the odds but became stronger as the years moved forward. They would be all right now because they had each other to lean on. The more Aziraphale thought about it, the more he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I went pretty serious and pretty far with this one. I wasn’t going to until I got into an argument with a Holocaust denier at a party who disgusted me so much I ended up taking it out on this story by weaving some of the horrors that came out of Nazi Germany into it. 
> 
> Really detailed information on the removal of the German Jews to concentration camps is hard to come by if you’re not going to go behind a paywall. First the Nazis slowly removed rights, and then allowed them to emigrate to other countries just to get rid of them. In some cases they forcibly emigrated Jews to ghettos in occupied territories. Then everything starts talking about concentration camps without going into much detail about the decisions to move undesirable groups there, how that process actually took place and information like that. We just go from having rights removed to cattle cars bound for Auschwitz. Not very helpful. I did glean that in some areas, the men were removed first for forced labour purposes so I went with that. This is why the location Aziraphale and Crowley are working out of, details about Aziraphale’s resistance group and the date are vague. It’s the late 1930s when the story begins and that’s the best it’s going to get. A small number of people hid those persecuted by the Nazis. They helped them get out of the country when they could. I ran with that. It’s a bit of fictionalized history but essentially the meat of the story is how an angel and demon helped, what it cost them to do so and ultimately how they had to depend on each other to get through it.
> 
> It’s kind of the same with interrogation techniques, where they were used, when and who they were used upon. All the good information appears to be in articles behind paywalls and what’s out there for free you have to kind of try to piece together yourself. I did find an article comparing U.S. torture techniques used in Guantanamo to ones used by Nazis with examples of both. So that gave me ideas on what they might use on Aziraphale. “Enhanced interrogation” techniques were approved for use as early as 1939, so that fits into my vague timeline. They were used on dissidents by the Gestapo. I couldn’t find out if Aziraphale would actually be counted as a dissident because he was aiding those groups the Nazis wanted to extinguish or have some other kind of designation. Either way, they would not take kindly to his actions of mercy.
> 
> Concentration camp descriptions are based on eyewitness accounts. I’d advise not going looking for such information unless you have a strong stomach. It’s pretty sick what happened to people and the pictures I came across were hard to look at. Auschwitz’s gas chamber has scratch marks on the walls from its victims.  
Gas chambers weren’t used in concentration camps until 1941, so there’s another reason to keep the timeline of the story vague since I’m just kind of bashing history together for drama’s sake. But these things did happen, even if they didn’t happen quite at the same time like I have it.
> 
> Hypothermia experiments were done in Dachau in the late 1930s and things like what Crowley described did happen. Other kinds of experiments happened in other camps with some of the most notorious being the twin experiments carried out by Josef Mengele. 
> 
> Interestingly enough, rationing in the UK continued until 1954 when bacon and meat were finally the last items removed from the list. I don’t know why “bacon and meat” is specified since bacon is technically meat. Restaurants were open throughout the war and didn’t have to ration at first, but later they could only spend a certain amount of money per meal. I don’t remember what I read, but it doesn’t matter. I decided that those two weren’t going to be aware yet of situation when it came to rationing and it gave me a good excuse for Crowley to do something sweet for Aziraphale.


End file.
